Bonds
by Mordred LeFay
Summary: AU high school. Their father gives them a choice: Temari escorts Neji Hyuuga to the Autumn Waltz or they transfer from Konoha High to Anbu Academy. Updated first chapters!
1. Chapter 1 Dinner with Daddy

Bonds

A Naruto Fan-fic

Shikamaru's cigarette was one long ash. Temari kept an eye on it, in case he went to yawn or snore and it fell into his mouth. The last thing she wanted was to try and Heimlich a fiberglass filter out of his throat.

She plucked the cigarette from her boyfriend's unresisting lips, tapped the ash off into the grass, and took a drag. One of their favorite teachers, Asuma, used to smoke. They would find him out in the parking lot sometimes between classes. He taught social studies and was the faculty advisor for the chess club. He was cool. When Shikamaru won the state chess championship one year, Asuma took him and Temari out to dinner to celebrate. He even bought them drinks.

After Asuma was murdered, Shikamaru took up smoking. He said he wouldn't quit until Asuma's murderers were brought to justice. Temari thought it was just his way of committing slow suicide. She figured if he was going to die, she might as well also.

Tch, how emo THAT sounded. She was starting to sound like the Uchiha kid, the one who always wore long-sleeved shirts with thumb loops so the sleeves wouldn't ride up by accident and show his razor scars.

The bell rang. Temari stubbed the cigarette out and left it in the dirt. "Oi, lazy-ass. Class time," she said in her husky voice, giving her reclining boyfriend a jab in the ribs.

"Unf," he replied.

"I'm not making myself late for you again."

"Go without me," he said, eyes still shut.

"Leave no man behind, soldier," Temari said and stood. She offered her hand. Shikamaru sighed, opened his eyes, and let his girlfriend haul him to his feet.

They were a strange pair: the lazy genius and the hardworking tomboy. Despite all that she tried to light some fire beneath Shikamaru's ass, Temari was secretly glad that Shikamaru wasn't ambitious nor haughty about his intelligence. Her father was ambitious, and she hated the man for it.

The clean-cut, cut-throat businessman was the reason she stalked around in her mother's old leather jacket and rode the loudest Harley she could find instead of dressing in the designer clothes and driving the Lexus he bought for her sixteenth birthday. Like every birthday, he hadn't been around to give it to her; he was overseas on business. The card wedged under the windshield wiper had his name signed by his assistant, Baki.

Her father was the reason her younger brothers dressed like backup singers for Marilyn Manson. He was the reason Gaara dyed his naturally ginger hair bright red and drew eyeliner around his eyes so thick that the other freshmen called him "the rabid raccoon." He was the reason that Kankurou painted his face and spent hours in his room making fucked-up voodoo-doll puppet things made to look like people he hated.

He was the reason her mother was dead. He wanted a strong son to take over the business, after one daughter and the "disappointment" that was Kankurou. Their mother had been so weakened after Kankurou's birth that her obstetrician had warned their father that she shouldn't try to have any more children, that it could kill her. He didn't listen.

At first Temari told herself that dating Shikamaru was just another way to get back at her dad. The slouching, lazy, unendingly casual and subtly disrespectful young man was everything she wasn't supposed to want. It didn't matter that he was a genius, that he was in her grade though he was three years younger, that he was a master at chess. Temari's father wanted her to go after someone like himself: hard-working, ambitious, ruthless. Someone like Neji Hyuuga, child of another powerful business family, someone with whom he could ally.

Shikamaru didn't seem to care about anything, especially not women. Temari couldn't imagine him actually giving a damn about anyone, least of all her, whom he constantly dubbed "troublesome" and used to think of as a spoiled rich brat.

"The hell do you see in him?" Kankurou asked once.

"He looks good, he's interesting, and he doesn't mind riding on the back of my bike," Temari answered.

"Likes to ride bitch, eh?" Kankurou chuckled. "As close to a woman as you can get without hopping the fence, eh Temari?"

She had ignored that. She was used to the lesbian rumors, though anyone who knew her knew she was no fan of women.

"He makes her laugh," Gaara piped up. "And smile."

Kankurou had frowned as though this was a terrible thing.

As it turned out, Temari was one of the few things Shikamaru did care about. He loved to surprise and impress her; she was the only person who could get him to get off his ass and actually make an effort at anything. And Shikamaru was the only person who could turn the snarling, strong-willed Temari into a purring kitten.

They were late for homeroom, but their teacher, Kakashi, wasn't there yet anyway. He always strolled in late, claiming the line for coffee was longer than he thought or that someone had parked in his space or his dogs were sick.

Once, for a month, road work made them detour from their usual route to school to the road the cemetery was on. They saw Kakashi's car parked there every day, and him standing at one of the graves further back. They went there a couple of times, trying to figure out which grave he was standing at, but they could never puzzle it out for sure. They invented plenty of theories, that it was a woman he had loved, a lost sibling, a friend or a parent, but they never asked him and it never came up.

A minute after the late bell rang, Kakashi popped into the room. "Sorry I'm late. I got lost," he said, deadpan. The class laughed at the obvious lie. Shikamaru already had his head down on the desk, back to dreamland. Temari flipped open her planner to see if anything interesting was going on today. "Dinner with Dad" stood out in viciously red ink, complete with a sketch of Temari and her brothers as hanged stick figures while a stick figure of her dad blabbed on unconcerned.

"Fuck," Temari muttered.

"Mm?" Shikamaru asked, opening one eye.

"Go back to sleep," she told him, continuing to curse in her head.

Kakashi was droning the announcements out, reading from a sheet of paper in this hand. "The Autumn Waltz is next week, high schoolers only except for dates. One date per person. No sneaking in half of Konoha Junior High," Kakashi read, earning a smattering of titters for his ad-libbing.

Temari didn't pay much attention to this announcement. She didn't go to dances, which she thought were a waste of money. Instead she and Shikamaru would go out somewhere else, or spend the night in. Then at least they could listen to music they enjoyed.

Besides, the Autumn Waltz was a joke. She knew how to waltz. What people did at those dances, even the ones with fancy names, were about as related to a waltz as fucking was to polo. They had a dress code, they decorated the gym like a ballroom, but everyone still listened to pop music and didn't dance so much as gyrate and grind.

Hell, she could stay home and have some actual sex in private. For free.

"Ino's gonna want to go," Shikamaru said, his eyes still closed.

Temari's eyes narrowed. "You go with her, no sex for a week."

He opened his eyes to fix her with a scolding look. "Not that you could make good on that threat, but knock off the jealousy. I didn't mean with me, first of all." Temari felt her cheeks heating up. She hated when he accused her of jealousy, because that meant she was questioning the virtue of one of his best friends, which was one of the few things that could get her easygoing beau truly pissed off.

Ino and Temari had flat-out hated each other, partly because hanging out with Temari meant Shikamaru wasn't there whenever Ino needed him (which was whenever she broke up with yet another boyfriend and needed a shoulder to cry on, or when she needed a ride, or money, or a favor), partly because Temari didn't like women and didn't trust the social butterfly, and partly because Ino blamed Temari for Shikamaru's transformation into an "aimless loser."

It took one blowout, and Shikamaru locked them in his parents' barn and told them to talk it out or spend the night out there with the deer. Ino clarified that Shikamaru was a friend, nothing closer than a brother to her, and Temari clarified that Shikamaru was neither aimless, nor a loser, and dating her hadn't brought any such thing about.

So after a long talk, they went from loathing to slightly more friendly than tolerating each other. Ino was the de facto girl to go to whenever Temari needed to talk to a woman about something. But old reflexes tend to stick, and the girls could not be more different.

Ino was a cheerleader. Ino was on the student council. Ino got good grades and any man she wanted. Any man except Sasuke Uchiha.

"She'll want to go with Sasuke, of course," Temari said, chagrined. She couldn't think of anyone less suited for Ino, though she supposed the brooding bad-guy schtick had struck an "I must save him from himself" urge in the petite blonde. "Is she gonna ask him?"

"You haven't heard?" Shikamaru said. "He's dating Sakura Haruna now."

Sakura... Temari remembered a time when Sakura was just like Ino. The girls had been attached at the hip, best of friends, the whole chick-flick, young-adult novel cliché of "BFF." And just like in all those works of fiction, a stupid male shattered that like so many crystal unicorn figurines.

The rumor went that Sasuke's older brother, Itachi, was in a gang. As part of his initiation, he had to rob his parents' house. His parents came home, confronted him, and he or his accomplices shot them. Sasuke, who was lagging behind his parents to check the mail, heard the gunshot and rushed in. Instead of shooting him, Itachi pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness and fled the scene.

No one knew if it was true, or what Sasuke had been like beforehand, but the kid who left his posh private school to join the regular kids at Konoha High School wore all black, never smiled, and was rumored to slash his arms up with a box cutter. This, of course, made him irresistible to the girls at school who couldn't resist a mystery. They all fought with each other and vied to be the one to break down the walls he built up around himself.

Temari, who was intimate enough with all things fucked-up, was immune. Sure, he was handsome in a mopey sort of way, but she knew walls like that were usually as much to keep something in as they were to keep everyone else out.

But Ino, the charmer, was perplexed to find a handsome young man who ignored her seductive wiles. Sakura, with her cheery helpfulness, saw a soul in need. The two became rivals.

"Sakura and Sasuke? Are you sure?" Temari asked.

"Ino was on the phone crying her eyes out for three hours last night," Shikamaru said. "I guess whatever Sakura was doing worked." While Ino matured into an older version of herself, a little more self-assured, a little less flighty, Sakura had changed. Apparently she figured that to hunt the beast, you had to become it. Or maybe she outgrew the unicorn figurines. Either way, she cut her waist-length brown hair into a long shag and dyed it bubblegum pink. She wore band t-shirts with the sleeves torn off and camo pants. She listened to music that wasn't so much melody as synchronized screaming and wore enough makeup to put on an off-Broadway production of Cats. She wore combat boots, pierced her nose and wore dark sunglasses even inside.

"Huh." Temari poked at her lower lip with the end of her pen. "I doubt Ino will want to go to the dance then."

"Oh no. If she stays home, that's admitting defeat. She's going to go looking her best and acting like she doesn't give a shit about those two."

"But she wants you to go for moral support."

"Maybe."

Temari glared. Shikamaru shot a warning glare in return. Temari muttered something about clamps and Shikamaru's glare took on a slightly frightened tinge.

"She won't be hanging around me, if so. She wants to make Uchiha jealous, and everyone at school knows I'm with you, and that I'm her best friend. That would be too obvious."

"So I take it you're helping her devise a strategy?"

Shikamaru scoffed. "I'm not helping her play her girlie games, no."

Temari thought for a moment and laughed. "What?" Shikamaru asked.

"Do you really think those two will go to a lame Autumn Waltz?" she asked.

Shikamaru sat up. "Good point," he said. "Maybe. I dunno how much time they get alone. Dances are prime time to make out."

"Yeah, but they'd probably do what we do: take the money for tickets and go out somewhere else."

"True," Shikamaru said. "Do you think that'd stop Ino, though?"

"Probably not," Temari said with a smirk.

The bell rang and the class shuffled to their feet and out the door. "Want to come over after school?" Shikamaru asked when they got out in the hall.

"Can't," Temari grumbled, tapping a fingernail against her planner.

Shikamaru peered at the sketch. "Oooh," he said, wincing. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Sweet of you to offer but no, I like you too much," Temari replied and stuffed the planner back into her backpack. She slung the pack on her back. "See you at lunch," she said, and held out her hand. Shikamaru slid his fingertips from her palm to her fingertips. They never kissed goodbye at school; not only was it silly because they were going to see each other in a few hours, it was too troublesome to get bitched out by an overly-prudish teacher. And as Temari liked to say, if anyone wanted to see anything as hot as the two of them kissing, they had to pay cash.

---

"There's a new kid in my class," Gaara said as he carefully sawed his pizza into little triangular pieces with his dull plastic knife. Shikamaru hated eating lunch with Temari's weirdo brothers. Kankurou liked to growl at him and clandestinely fling bits of food at his head, and he hadn't caught Gaara blinking yet, at least not unless it was obviously deliberate.

"Oh yeah, who?" Temari asked, poking at her sandwich.

"That guy," Gaara pointed without diverting his attention from his meticulous task. "Naruto Uzumaki."

A few tables over, an energetic blonde kid appeared to be terrorizing the Hyuugas: Hinata and Neji. Hinata was, as always, hiding behind her long, indigo-black hair and glasses. She was blushing so crimson she was almost incandescent. The blonde kid was sitting next to her, occasionally putting a hand on her shoulder as if to make sure she understood his meaning. Every time he did, she seemed to blush even redder. Across the table, Neji was glaring, the crease between his eyebrows deepening more every time the Uzumaki kid touched his cousin.

"All right, look at Hyuuga's face," Temari cackled.

"Which one?" Kankurou asked, concentrating on lining up a gummi bear on a plastic spoon for a shot at Shikamaru's nose.

"Dude, do you think I don't see you?" Shikamaru sighed.

"Do you think I give a shit, Nara?" Kankurou replied. Shikamaru groaned. _To think I might marry into this family someday_, he thought to himself.

Kankurou flicked the candy. Shikamaru caught it in his mouth. "Thanks," he said, smirking as he chewed. "Send over another."

"Cocksucker," Kankurou muttered.

"Language, asswipe," Temari said and smacked her brother in the back of the head.

"Ow!" He rubbed his head and flipped her the bird.

"And give Shikamaru some more gummi bears."

"Fuck YOU sideways! Owowow! Lemmego!"

Temari released Kankurou's ear. "Let him eat them, Temari. Maybe it'll sweeten his mouth," Shikamaru said, sipping his iced tea and looking bored.

"Rot his teeth and widen his ass, more like," Temari hissed.

"Hey, sis, dinner with Dad tonight. Maybe I should let him know his daughter lets some farmer's kid use her as a finger puppet--" Kankurou cut off abruptly as Gaara's plastic fork halted millimeters from his eye.

"Enough," Gaara said in a perfectly calm voice, though the fork shook a little and his breathing was a bit harsh. He pulled the fork back, speared one of his pizza triangles, and ate it. He chewed slowly, still staring through Kankurou. Kankurou gulped.

"So, Hinata, I hear there's an Autumn Waltz coming up," a loud voice with a hint of growl broke through the sudden quiet. "Want to go with me?"

As one, they turned their heads to the Hyuugas' table. Hinata's reply was too quiet to hear, but apparently it was the affirmative. Neji got to his feet to launch a protest, too quiet to catch more than "father" and "too young to date," but Naruto was already grinning. "Great!" he said. "I'll pick you up so your father can meet me. Until then, though, maybe you can show me around school a bit." He stood up, taking Hinata's hand.

He was medium height, and wiry as far as any of them could tell, though he wore a calf-length coat, black with a blindingly orange lining. Around his forehead he had tied a plain black bandanna as a sort of headband. His blonde hair stuck up all around it.

Shyly, not looking at him directly, Hinata let him hold her hand and followed him to another table, where he introduced himself while Hinata stood there looking ready to flee and yet rooted to the spot.

"Who IS he?" Shikamaru wondered.

"If he can make Neji shit a brick, he's my new best friend," Temari declared, watching the older Hyuuga standing frozen, his fists on the table.

"He's an orphan. His adopted father is a man named Iruka, one of the junior high school teachers. He runs track, cross-country," Gaara informed them. "His favorite animal is foxes. And he wants to run for student body president."

"Got a crush, Gaara?" Kankurou teased. Temari elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"So violent," Shikamaru said.

"No." The word dropped from Gaara's lips like a stone. "There's just something about him. Him and Sasuke Uchiha."

"Hey, maybe you can make some friends, huh Gaara?" Temari said encouragingly. She finished off the last of her sandwich and stood up. "Shikamaru," she beckoned with a jerk of her head. He got up to follow. "Later, guys. Don't be late tonight," Temari told her brothers.

The sun was bright, though the air was brisk and nibbling, if not biting, at their exposed skin. "It'll be too cold for the bike soon," Shikamaru said as they strolled to the end of the parking lot, right before the dirt lot for overflow parking, where Temari had the Harley parked.

"Our leather jackets are plenty warm."

"Not that warm."

Temari dug through her saddlebag to find their pack of cigarettes. Getting caught with a pack on school grounds was a great way to get suspended, and since they always went out to the parking lot to smoke anyway, they just left them there. She handed them over to Shikamaru, who spanked the pack for a minute before drawing one out and lighting it, his palm cupped over the end to keep the wind from blowing out his lighter flame.

Smoke spiraled from his lips and nose and was borne away by the wind. He handed the cig to Temari. "For Asuma," he said. His voice was getting rougher, Temari noticed. He was coughing more too. He smoked more often now than when they started. As for her, she craved it but could control it to just a few daily puffs.

"For Asuma," she murmured in response and took a drag.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come over tonight?" Shikamaru asked.

"My father never lets us have guests over when he eats dinner with us. 'Quality time' yknow." Another gust of wind blew and Temari watched the glowing tip of the cigarette flare to life. "Even if he did though, I wouldn't inflict that upon you. Plus it'd probably be easier for me to keep my temper if you're not around."

"Why's that?" Shikamaru took the cigarette back and set it back between his lips. He looked good like that, Temari thought. Somehow his usual expression looked less bored and more contemplative. And the cigarette drew attention to his lips, how he pursed them around it. "Do I embarrass you?"

"No, my father embarrasses me," Temari said. "I don't want him to give you a hard time." Her father would never understand what made Temari go damp for some deer farmers' kid. She didn't want to sit through a dinner listening to her father "politely inquiring" about every aspect of Shikamaru, making subtle jabs, the kind he always thought were motivational instead of destructive. She didn't want to grip the handle of her butter knife until she had the imprint of roses in her palm while her father listed every reason why Shikamaru was not worthy to even glance at his daughter.

But what would be even worse was when her father would inevitably turn his magnifying glass on her, point out every flaw while she writhed with the overwhelming desire to thrust her steak knife through his throat to shut him up. Every failure, every shortcoming, every tiny mistake would be regurgitated.

"And I don't want you to hear all the things he finds fault about in me," she finished, wrapping her arms around herself. It was colder, suddenly. She shivered.

Shikamaru looked at her then, dark eyes under half-closed lids. "And you think anything that asshole could say would hold any sway with me?" he asked quietly.

Temari reached up, removed the cigarette from his lips, and pulled him down for a kiss. He tasted like ashes and smelled like smoke. Shikamaru's arms tightened around her.

The distant ring of the end of lunch bell interrupted. "Damn it!" she snapped. She took an angry drag off the cigarette and an inch's worth of ash flew with the wind into her face. "Let's skip," she decided, grabbing her helmet from where it hung on the side of the bike.

Shikamaru grabbed her wrist. "Temari, you have a calculus test," he reminded her.

"Fuck calculus, I don't care," she spat. She didn't struggle against his hold though.

"I'm rubbing off on you in all the worst ways," Shikamaru sighed.

Temari traced his jaw with her fingertips. "Rub off on me in the best ways then," she murmured.

"You want your father to come home and catch us in bed?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't. Come on." Shikamaru started sprinting back towards the building. Temari followed. They parted just inside the door. "Call me later on, afterward," Shikamaru said.

"I will," Temari promised. "Have a good class."

"Good luck on your test," he replied, his fingertips leaving hers. "And tonight at dinner."

"I'll need it," Temari muttered to herself as she sprinted to her class.

---

Temari sat stiffly at the dining room table, which had until recently been covered in plastic so Chiyo, the housekeeper, didn't have to worry about scratches or dust. Now it was covered with a cloth so white that it hurt her head. She wanted a cigarette. She never wanted a cigarette this badly.

Chiyo had sniffed her when Temari came in. "Go wash; you smell like ciggies," the old woman had said. She always called them ciggies. A habit from her youth, Temari guessed. "And dress nice," the old woman added, wrinkling her nose at Temari's leather jacket, her faded t-shirt, her low-slung jeans.

"I know the drill, Chiyo," Temari had answered. She took a shower and, because she knew her father wanted to see her in a skirt, wore pinstriped black pants and a red cashmere sweater, both still stiff and smelling like the store they came from. They were gifts, probably, but from when? What holiday or event that the old bastard couldn't make it to?

To avoid an argument, she left her hair out of her customary four ponytails and just brushed it. The necklace her father gave her for her seventeenth birthday was sitting on her dresser. She joked with her brothers that a single pearl on a pendant did not even begin to represent the incredible irritation he had inflicted upon her.

Temari considered wearing it. "Why? To please him? Fuck that," she said to herself and instead put on the necklace Shikamaru had given her once, for no reason at all, just because he saw it in a store when he was out shopping with Ino and thought she would like it. It was a pendant on a thin gold chain, a gold fan enameled white with three purple dots.

Now she sat poking at the turkey that Chiyo had spent all day slow-roasting in honor of this momentous occasion, the master of the house actually being home. He sat at the head of the table, ramrod straight and practicing perfect table etiquette. Temari sat to his left, Kankurou and Gaara opposite her, Gaara at their father's right in the chosen heir's place of honor.

Temari scrutinized her father out of the corner of her eye. He looked a lot like Gaara might look when he grew up, even down to the same ginger hair. Gaara had been unable to hide his dye job, but had at least combed it down instead of spiking it out like he usually did.

Both of her brothers looked strange. Gaara had dug some button-down shirt out of some forgotten drawer, and apparently Chiyo hadn't gotten to him in time, because it was as wrinkled as if it had been crumpled and then sat on. It was also too small; he had noticeable difficulty raising his arms. Kankurou had put on a red and yellow striped polo shirt that still had fold marks.

Their faces were scrubbed clean, that was the strangest part. Temari was used to both of her younger brothers wearing more makeup than she ever did. Kankurou without his face paint and Gaara without eyeliner made them both look naked somehow.

"Is there something wrong with the turkey, Temari?" her father asked, his dry, deep voice echoing in the nearly empty room, startling her.

"No, it's fine," she replied quietly.

"So, Gaara, how did your English exam go?" he asked, apparently thinking that the way was made for conversation. Gaara blinked, the closest he came to flinching.

They all knew that their father knew how the exam went. He never asked questions to which he did not already know the answers. Gaara mumbled something unintelligible.

"Your teacher told me that your writing is abysmal. Really, Gaara, how do you expect to take over my business someday if you cannot express yourself clearly in writing?"

"Maybe I don't want to take over the business," Gaara replied under his breath. Still, it carried in the echoey room.

Their father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's not argue about this again. Who else is supposed to take it over, Gaara? Your brother still plays with dolls--" Kankurou bristled, gripping his knife tightly "--and Temari is a woman." Temari's head snapped up at this. A growl ached to break forth from her throat, but she swallowed it down, tore a piece of turkey, and stuck it in her mouth. It tasted like a paper napkin.

"Chiyo has been after me to let her clean out your room, Kankurou. Apparently you barred her from entering after she threw out some of your dolls?" In truth all three of them had deadbolts on their doors, so that they would have at least one room that neither their father nor his housekeeper could invade.

"They're puppets," Kankurou snapped. "They're art."

Temari zoned out from the argument. Her sweater itched. Cashmere wasn't supposed to itch. Had she left the tag in? She tried to reach back behind her, underneath the sweater, to feel around for what was picking at her.

"That's a nice necklace, Temari," her father said. Damn! He caught her off-guard. "Where did you get it?"

"Nowhere," she answered automatically. "I had a calculus test today," she began, trying to change the subject.

"Nowhere?" her father said, obviously wanting to pursue this. "You didn't shoplift it, did you?"

"No!" she retorted.

"Her boyfriend gave it to her," Kankurou said, somewhat smugly now that the fire was off of him. Temari glared at him. This was another thing she hated about her father, how he could turn them against each other, like neighbors ratting out neighbors in a witch hunt. Anything as long as it wasn't hurting them.

"Boyfriend? Oh," he said, his tone derisive, "are you still dating the farmer kid? What's his name..."

"Shikamaru Nara," Gaara supplied. Temari happily sifted through several methods of death for her brothers.

"That's the one," their father said grimly. He was silent for a moment. "If he gets you pregnant, so help me I'll disown you," he said with surprising venom.

"Dad!" Temari cried, rage rising and making her skin burn hot. "I'm on the Pill!"

"Things happen, Temari. Just know I won't pay for your mistake."

Temari got to her feet so fast that her chair hit the wall behind her hard enough to leave a dent. "Don't worry," she hissed, "I'm sure Shikamaru's parents will let us live in the deer barn." She stalked away from the table.

"Temari!" her father bellowed. She froze in the doorway. "Sit down," he commanded. Every part of her wanted to belay that command, to run from the room, the house, to jump on her Harley and flee to Shikamaru's.

Instead she turned, righted her chair, and flopped down into it. She pushed her plate away and scowled at it.

Her father eyed the dent in the wall, disappointment in his eyes. He sighed, shaking his head, then looked at her plate. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

"I've lost my appetite," she said icily.

Her father gave another put-upon sigh. "Why do you insist on dating beneath you?"

"I love him," Temari said, wishing she didn't feel so stupid saying it. How did her father do this, make her feel so stupid for speaking the truth just because he didn't agree with it?

He gave a harsh, barking laugh. "Love is overrated, Temari, compared to connections, to status." He swirled the wine around in his glass. "Your mother was a beauty, just like you--" Temari ignored the compliment, knowing that it was wrapped around a dagger "--but she used that beauty. She didn't squander it on those beneath her."

"No, she squandered it on you," Temari retorted.

"Shut up!" Everyone jumped and stared at Gaara. He was on his feet now, fists pressed up to his forehead. He was shaking. "Don't talk about Mom," he growled, his usually husky voice like gravel in a woodchipper now.

"Calm down, Gaara," their father snapped. "It's not like you ever knew her."

Temari couldn't help but gasp. There was a clatter as Kankurou's knife fell from his limp fingers. They sat rigid, waiting for Gaara to explode.

Instead, he strode from the room. Their father's booming command didn't seem to affect him.

Kankurou and Temari stared at their plates and let out a slow, long breath.

Their father went on as though nothing had happened. "I was talking to Hiashi Hyuuga today. He tells me Neji doesn't yet have a date to the Autumn Waltz." Every muscle in Temari's body tightened, knowing what must be coming next. "I told him you were available."

Temari's fists clenched in her lap. "I am NOT going to a dance with Neji Hyuuga," she declared.

"You WILL go, because it is about time you spent time with your own kind!" her father yelled.

"You can't make me go," she retorted, her voice low and dangerous. "I won't. Ground me, take away my Harley--"

"I've been thinking," he plowed ahead as though Temari hadn't spoken, that the subject was finished, "it's ridiculous that you've been going to Konoha High. Initially I wanted you to be able to relate to everyday people, but it's obvious now that certain... unsavory elements have been leading you astray. Hiashi Hyuuga agrees. After realizing what sort of people attend your school--" Temari thought back to lunch, to Neji turning purple while Naruto Uzumaki walked around hand-in-hand with Hinata "--he's prepared to pull Neji and Hinata out of Konoha High and enroll them in Anbu Academy."

"You wouldn't," Temari breathed.

"Only uptight assholes go to that school!" Kankurou shouted. "You can't say there aren't criminals coming out of there! Itachi Uchiha--" he cut off.

"An unfortunate rumor," their father intoned.

"Are you threatening me?" Temari asked, astonished. Sure, it was her senior year, but being pulled from Konoha High, from her friends, her classes, her teachers, Shikamaru...

"Well, you sure haven't proven to me that your current school has done anything but transform you into a disobedient, sass-mouth brat," her father countered.

Temari squeezed her eyes shut. It's just one dance, she thought. "Fine," she grunted through gritted teeth. "I'll go to the dance with Neji."

"Excellent," her father said, his mood instantly improved. "He's a rather nice young man, from what I've seen. And he comes from a very well-off family."

She didn't want to hear this, bile rising in her throat, feeling cheapened and prostituted. "May I be excused?" she asked harshly.

"Very well," her father allowed. Temari got up and left, waiting until she reached the hallway to run up the stairs and into her room. She slid the bolt and buried her face in her pillow to scream and cry.

---

"I'm sorry," Shikamaru's said on the other end of the line half an hour later, once Temari had pulled herself together enough to talk without choking. She had found a pack of cigarettes under a pile of clothing; apparently it hadn't been empty after all, because one lone cigarette remained. It was in her hand now, out the window, streaming its smoke up into the night air.

"So fucking embarrassing," she groaned. "Why do I care? Seriously, why? Just because he's my father? Like that fucking matters. It should've stopped mattering years ago. Why is it that if anyone at school said any of those same things to me, I'd just brush them off without getting more than annoyed?" She leaned out the window and took a drag. _Damn cigarettes_, she thought. _I have to quit_.

"Because fathers aren't supposed to say that stuff," Shikamaru answered.

"Can you believe he actually said he'd disown me if you got me pregnant?"

"Really? Awesome, ditch your pills and get over here."

"Hah hah."

"That can't be why you were so upset though. What did he say?"

Temari took another drag and cleared her throat. "He's making me to go the Autumn Waltz."

"I'll dust off my good shoes."

"With Neji Hyuuga."

"What?" Bless him, there was no touch of jealousy in his voice, just disbelief.

"He threatened to send us to Anbu Academy if I didn't give in. He claimed to be talking it over with Hiashi Hyuuga, and I think he was bluffing, but I've learned never to assume that."

"It doesn't make sense," Shikamaru said. "Why the hell does he want you to get with Neji so badly? It's like he's trying to breed you like a prize doe--"

"Thanks for the analogy."

"Hey, I'm just a lowly farmboy, what do I know?" He paused. "Well I suppose I can go for moral support, or in case Neji gets a bad case of cramps and has to go home." He laughed.

"No," Temari said. The hand holding her cigarette was shaking.

"Why not?"

"Please, Shikamaru," Temari whispered. "It's bad enough I have to fuckin' prostitute myself like this. It'd be even worse to have you watching. Please."

There was a pause. "How far does he expect you to go with this?" he asked, his voice dark.

"I didn't mean literally prostituted."

"Is he entitled to a just a few slow dances or does he get a free grope and a side of fries with this deal?"

"If he gets fresh, I'll ruin him."

"I know you will." Another pause. "Okay, I'll stay away."

"Thank you," she breathed. She tapped some ash out the window. "This is gonna suck."

"It's just one night."

"I keep telling myself that," Temari said, staring out into the blackness. "But then I think what if this is just the first step to soften me up? Like my father will keep threatening and demanding more and more until-- I dunno."

"Well, do me a favor and just don't marry Neji, okay?"

She laughed. "Don't worry."

"One year," Shikamaru said. "One year and you're free. Forever."

"That's what I keep telling myself." She looked at her watch. "I should go to bed."

"Me too. Picking me up tomorrow?"

"You know it. Zip the liner back in your jacket; it's supposed to be colder," Temari advised.

"Aye, ma'am. Goodnight. Love you."

Temari smiled. "I love you too," she whispered. "Goodnight."

She slid her phone closed and let a long, smoky sigh out through her nose. "Who knows," she said to herself, "maybe Neji is just as pissed off about this as I am." She stubbed out the cigarette on the windowsill and tossed it out the window. She half-hoped it was just smoldering, that it would set her father's too-huge house full of expensive junk ablaze. She and her brothers would escape while her father's bones turned to powder.

Rain was already starting to beat against the roof and splash into her open window. Temari heaved it shut and lay back in bed, switched off the lamp, and closed her eyes to sleep.

---

Gaara sat at the desk in his room, the lamp burning, his face in his hands. He was shaking, struggling to breathe. He didn't cry. Sometimes he wished he could.

He never knew his mother. He was the one who killed her.

It hurt more than he let on. It hurt even more that the only time his father spoke of her, he had the hint of derision in his voice suggesting that it was her fault for being too weak to survive.

Temari was the one who remembered the most, though precious little herself, about their mother. And she didn't like talking about it.

Gaara had been tonguing his anti-psychotics for months, spitting them in the toilet and flushing them. It was so hard to keep himself under control without them. But it was worth it.

It was worth it because without them, he could sometimes hear his mother's voice. Whispering, as if from far off, like on the other end of a bad cell phone connection.

She didn't always tell him to do bad things and when she did, he knew she was just testing him.

Still, the commands were hard to resist. A lot of them involved hurting his father, whom he knew deserved it. It didn't surprise him that his mother thought so too.

She didn't blame Gaara for killing her. It wasn't his fault he was born. That's what she told him, anyway.

"Someday when I'm not so weak, Mom," he promised. He got in bed but didn't turn the light off. He knew he wouldn't sleep. At most he would doze, but he couldn't remember the last time he truly slept. The eyeliner he layered so thickly around his eyes only darkened the rings that were already there. His dead expression was due as much to his half-asleep, zombie-like existence as to his emotional detachment.

His mother sang a lullaby in his head. For the first time that day, Gaara smiled.

---

Kankurou was working on his puppets. He'd had to rebuild the one representing his father more times than he could remember. The lump in his throat that developed when Temari left the table was still lingering on. He hated turning his father's focus on her, but it was like giving in under torture. He wanted to escape, and he threw his sister in the way to do so. He hated himself for it.

He carefully smoothed the glue over the ragged wooden edges of a leg piece.

He might not be good in school, he might not be any good at sports or music, but he was good with his hands, and he could make puppets dance so intricately that people thought they were mechanical instead of wooden and jointed, powered by twitching strings.

Gaara used to love it, when he was a baby. It was one of the few things that could make him soften, if not smile. This was back when they feared he was autistic, so their father let Kankurou put on his puppet shows for Gaara whenever possible.

The walls of Kankurou's room were covered in hooks, drilled into the plaster, rows upon rows offset, each hung with another puppet. Some were of people he liked, or at least tolerated. Most were of people he hated. Those were the ones most often mended, most often destroyed, most often still bearing drill or pin holes, slashes, gouged out eyes or broken limbs.

Life sucked lately. He found out today that Sakura Haruna, the only girl he thought he might have some feelings for, had finally hooked Sasuke Uchiha, that limp-dicked emo faggot who used himself as a chopping block.

Kankurou set the puppet carefully aside so the glue would dry, picked up one of his X-acto knives and looked it over. He wondered how it felt. He shook his head; he knew how it felt already. He'd cut himself accidentally plenty of times.

How stupid, he thought. Others hurt him enough already. Goths shouldn't hurt themselves. They should hurt other people.

He stood up and pulled the Sakura puppet off its hook and sat down to consider it. She had started out as a little girl with long brown hair and a red dress. Then he had to cut her hair short, bleach it and dye it pink, carefully peel off the cloth, and change the body shape. He constructed blue jeans from scraps of old ones, a little t-shirt on which he spent an afternoon painting the logo of her favorite band with a tiny brush.

He ran a finger gently over the face.

After a moment's thought, he took his own puppet down from the wall too, looped his fingers through the strings of it, then through that of the Sakura one. The wood clacked and clattered slightly as the puppets moved, the puppet Kankurou lying on the ground, the puppet Sakura kneeling beside him with a hand on his head.

He remembered that afternoon, many years ago. It was gym class, and his class was doing their damned physical fitness test, the damned mile run, and he was shuffling around the track, sweating, hating every athletic classmate of his as they passed him by looking barely winded, muscles flexing magnificently in the blazing sun, as he dragged his bulk forward pretending not to hear the hisses of, "Run, piggie!"

Something landed on his face and he instinctively swatted it away. Pain erupted in his cheek and he froze. He was allergic to bees.

"Keep moving, Kankurou!" the gym teacher had shouted.

"I think I've been stung!" he tried to shout, but his voice was faint. His tongue felt like a huge, sweaty washcloth in his mouth. He couldn't breathe. The world went sideways. Sneakers passed inches from his face. He heard a laugh. He started to panic. He wheezed. Tears stung his eyes. _I'm going to die!_ They were going to let him. They were laughing, watching him turn red and purple, taking joy in his suffering.

A cool hand lay on his forehead. "Are you allergic?" Sakura asked. He managed to nod. " I need an Epi-pen NOW!"

Her face filled his vision. She was pink with exertion, determined looking with her eyebrows knitted together. She softened, became soothing. "Kankurou, listen to me. Try to breathe, slowly. Don't go into shock. We're getting you help."

The teacher hurried up, handed something to Sakura. He felt a sting in his arm, but this one brought the cure, not the poison. He relaxed. His throat opened, just a bit. "You're gonna be all right," Sakura said, and smiled. She still had her hand on his forehead. She wasn't afraid to touch him. She didn't think he was gross, even all sweaty as he was with his purple paint a greasy smear on his face.

My heroine, he thought.

Kankurou shoved the puppets aside. The only one at school who ever showed him a speck of kindness and she was dating HIM.

He seized the Sakura puppet again, two fingers clamped on the hand that had just been on his puppet's forehead.

He stopped, set her gently aside. He couldn't hurt her. His eyes lit on the Sasuke puppet, the arms of which were already crosshatched with slices.

One more won't hurt, he thought, picking up the X-acto. Or better yet, it will. Kankurou's grin widened as he chuckled in the back of his throat and brought the knife to bear.


	2. Chapter 2 The Dance

Temari was shoveling Cheerios into her mouth Saturday morning when Chiyo poked her head into the kitchen and said, "There's an Ino Yamanaka here to see you."

"Hi!" Ino chirped as she walked in and sat beside Temari at the breakfast bar.

Temari squinted at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Shikamaru told me you have to go to the dance with Neji and that you could use someone to go dress shopping with. So let's go to the mall. Saturday's the best shopping day."

"Saturday is the busiest shopping day," Temari groaned.

"That's what I said," Ino said slowly, as if to a dim child. Temari remembered that Ino was one of those people who get up at 4 am to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving. Temari didn't care if she could get a big screen, HD TV for a _nickel_, she wouldn't go shopping in such a mob.

Temari went back to her Cheerios. Ino took this as acquiescence. "So, get dressed and we can get going. There are a ton of sales going on, but if we go too late they'll all be picked-over."

"I _am_ dressed," Temari grumbled. She was wearing her usual weekend (and weekday, come to think of it) attire of an old t-shirt and jeans.

"Oh. I thought you were still in your PJs," Ino said, which was rich coming from a girl Temari often saw wearing pajama pants at school. "Well, throw on something nicer, I guess."

"Why? What's wrong with this?"

Ino faltered. "'Cause… we're going out?" Temari fixed her with a look and she amended, "Or not."

Temari drank her remaining milk and got up to rinse the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. Ino followed her as she trotted up to her room to throw a jacket on. "It's drizzling," Ino warned, so she put down the leather jacket and buried herself in a black, hooded sweatshirt instead. It was one of Shikamaru's; they passed it back and forth. It still smelled like him, cigarette smoky and like the shaving cream he used, especially near the edge of the hood. When it stopped smelling like him and started smelling like her, she'd pass it back to him.

"I don't suppose you want to ride the Harley?" Temari asked, turning to go back down the stairs.

Ino made a face. "No way am I getting on that crazy thing," she declared. She beamed. "I guess we'll have to take the Lexus!"

"Why can't _you_ drive us?" Temari asked as she grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

"I don't have a car. I don't even have a license," Ino said. Temari cursed herself; she sometimes forgot that just about everyone she hung out with was two or three years younger than her.

"How did you get here, then?"

"My dad was going to Chouji's house to watch football with his dad and Shikamaru's dad, so he dropped me off," Ino explained.

Temari grumbled in the back of her throat. "So I'm stuck with you," she said as she led Ino towards the garage door, "and I'm stuck driving in Saturday mall traffic. Joyous."

"I'll buy you a Cinnabon while we're there," Ino wheedled.

Temari gave her a hard look, but nodded. "Deal," she sighed.

"Yay!" Ino cried as she skipped after Temari, who trudged into the garage as if it was a gallows. "I get to ride in the Lexxxussss!"

---

"Ooh! Leather seats!" Ino squealed as Temari backed out of the garage and into a light sprinkle of rain. "And they're heated? Why don't you drive this thing more often?"

"I like to ride the bike while I can. The season's almost over, though," Temari replied. She had to admit the heated seats were nice in the winter, since the leather got so cold. "I hate this thing. I told my father if he _had_ to get me a car, please make it something less flashy, but he didn't listen, as usual. Do _not_ touch that!" she snapped as Ino reached for the stereo controls. "I know what kind of music you listen to. I will drive this car into a tree—"

"Whoa!" Ino exclaimed. "Point made!" She folded her arms and stared out the window. The rain increased and the wipers turned themselves on. "That's still pretty cool, though. You barely have to drive it," Ino remarked softly, afraid of another outburst. "Out of curiosity, what would you rather drive?"

"An old Mustang. Stick."

"Oh… I see the problem. You like to be hands-on."

"That's one of the problems."

"And you hate the Lexus because it's a symbol of extravagance and it doesn't match your style at all."

"Yes," Temari said, hoping that would end it.

"And you hate how your father buys you things instead of being a father—" Temari started to shade to the side of the road, where several large pine trees loomed. "Wait, okay, I'm sorry, I'll shut up!" Ino squealed. Temari righted her course.

"No wonder Shikamaru thinks women are troublesome. He's been hanging out with _you_ his entire life," Temari said. But she was smirking.

"You hate me, don't you?" Ino pouted.

"Ino, if I hated you, I wouldn't be driving you to the mall right now." Temari ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm just in a bad mood."

"I understand," Ino said. "I mean, Neji's kinda cute and all, in a femme sort of way, but he's so… bitchy. And arrogant."

"What I don't understand," Temari said, nibbling her lip, "is when the hell did the sperm donor get so friendly with Hiashi Hyuuga?"

Ino tilted her head to one side. "Sperm donor?" she questioned.

"Oh, sorry," Temari said, shaking her head. "That's what my brothers and I call our father sometimes."

"Ouch," Ino replied. "I guess it's accurate, though."

"Believe it," Temari said grimly as she accelerated up the freeway ramp. Ino was thrown back in her seat. "One thing I love about this car, though: excellent pickup."

"Uh huh," Ino said as she clutched the armrest. Temari weaved expertly through the thick traffic. Ino squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm a car ninja, Ino, don't worry," Temari assured her.

Ino's eyes remained closed. "That doesn't mean you kill people with cars, does it?" she ventured. Temari laughed and hit the gas.

---

It was pouring down by the time Temari found a parking spot, at the far end of the Macy's lot. She had let Ino off at the door, and the girl had run squealing for the dry safety of the building, almost getting hit by a Hummer that was barreling heedlessly over the speed bumps. Leave it to Ino to forget an umbrella, or at least a rain jacket.

Temari's father would have scolded her for parking an expensive car so far away from the building, where thieves could more easily take it, or where no one would witness an accident. Temari didn't know what the hell her father was so worked up about anyway; the thing was fully insured.

Sometimes she left it unlocked, hoping some ambitious thug would get rid of it for her.

She popped the glove compartment open and took out the umbrella she always kept in there. She didn't tell Ino about it; the last thing Temari wanted to do was scrunch under the umbrella with the girl. Why should she pay for Ino's carelessness? Ino was lucky Temari didn't make her walk all the way in the rain from here.

Ino wasn't in the entryway when Temari got there. She cast a look around as she struggled to fold her dripping umbrella, buffeted on all sides by shoppers moving in and out of the doors. This was why she hated the mall on Saturdays. Temari elbowed her way past bag-laden women and men, hip-checked children aside, and cut in front of double-wide baby carriages until she found Ino exactly where she expected to: in the formalwear section.

Ino's arm was already weighed down by six dresses, each in a different color and style. "Look around while I try these on!" Ino told her, and disappeared into the dressing room, which let out an electronic "bing bong" noise as she passed.

Temari fingered the fabric of a dress. It felt scratchy; it was encrusted with glitter. She searched until she found the tag with the washing instructions. "Dry clean only." Go figure. Temari made a point of never buying clothes that she couldn't at least hand wash (their washing machine had a "hand wash" setting anyway, which seemed incredibly oxymoronic). She examined another dress. Dry clean only. Some dresses didn't look like they'd even survive dry cleaning; they were like the cheap, full-outfit Halloween costumes that didn't have washing instructions because you were supposed to wear them once and throw them out.

There was a nice black dress… ruined by an enormous silk flower that flopped from a too-small safety pin at the dip of the neckline. Here was one with a nice skirt but a bodice that draped like a pair of theater curtains. One dress was perfect in style and cut, void of unnecessary decoration, but blinding lime green. Temari's lip curled.

"What do you think?" Ino said from the doorway. The bing-bong was going nuts with every movement Ino made, not knowing if she was going in or coming out. She took a few steps out of the doorway and did a catwalk twirl.

The dress was hot pink, a sheath halter dress with a slight flare at the bottom, loaded with spandex and clinging to every slim curve. The back was a criss-cross of lacings. "It looks perfect," Temari said truthfully. "Get it and let's get moving."

Ino laughed. "This is the first one. I have to try on the rest."

"Why? That one looks great."

"One of the others might look better, though," Ino protested, and disappeared back into the dressing room.

Temari remembered Shikamaru's tales of shopping torture and groaned. It amazed her that he could live through this once and still be dragged out for more. Apparently he was striving for sainthood.

Twenty minutes later, Ino hooked every single dress onto the return rack outside the dressing room. Temari stood agape. "Not one?" she asked, aghast.

Ino giggled. "This is the first store! I took pictures of the ones I liked." She waved her little chocolate-bar of a cell phone, the kind with the keyboard inside for chronic texters, in Temari's face. On screen was a photo of Ino vamping in the mirror, cell phone in hand, wearing one of the fluffy confections that was now on the rack. "I figure we'll hit all the stores and then I'll narrow it down."

Temari's imagination swam with tantalizing images of her own demise. The damn hangers were nowhere near sharp enough, and she imagined the dresses were mostly too fragile or stretchy to hang herself with, even if there were available rafters.

"Let's go!" Ino chirped, yanking Temari by the arm toward the exit into the rest of the mall.

---

Temari was wandering towards Hot Topic when Ino yanked her back like a naughty puppy and snapped, "No, you are _not_ buying your dress in Hot Topic." A snarl from Temari made Ino drop her wrist, but the girl stood firm. "I'm not going in that store anyway. It's creepy."

"My brothers drag me in there every time we're here," Temari said. She peered past Ino, trying to make out the merchandise inside. "I saw this really sexy dress here one time. It was black and embroidered with red gothic crosses."

"Do you really want to look sexy for _Neji_?" Ino reminded her.

"I guess not."

"Exactly, now—wait!" Ino gasped and ducked. Temari looked down at her, one eyebrow reaching for her hairline. Ino was backed up against the store's glass window, looking over her shoulder secret-agent style. "Sakura's in there!" she said in a stage whisper.

Temari squinted. Sure enough, there was an unruly mane of pink hair over by the wall of band shirts. "So? You didn't want to go in anyway," she reminded Ino. But Ino was already making her way in, using a combination of sneaking footsteps and nonchalant sauntering when anyone noticed. Temari sighed and followed.

They wove through aisles blocked by human barriers: a skinny guy with revolting acne, chatting into a pink rhinestone-covered cell phone about how incredibly lame the selection of platform boots was here; an enormous girl wearing no less than five layers of shirts that looked like rags, yet still failed to cover her cavernous cleavage; a mixed-sex gaggle of thirteen year olds painted up like corpses; a guy wearing a football jersey, who sported a five-inch long, purple Mohawk and what appeared to be a bolt through his chin.

Ino pretended to eye some merchandise, standing only a few feet behind Sakura. Temari made it to her side. "What the hell—" she began, but Ino planted her palm atop Temari's head and pushed her down.

"Hsst!" she uttered. Sakura turned around and Ino's expression snapped into instant charm and the faux-friendly, sisterly closeness that was her trademark with people she despised.

"Hey, Forehead," Ino greeted Sakura, as though this was a friendly nickname instead of an epithet. Sakura self-consciously brushed her bangs over her high forehead before she could stop herself. She gave Ino a sullen look.

"Hey, Ino-pig," Sakura responded, spitting the last word.

"Looking for a dress for the formal here? I'm not surprised. It seems your type of place," Ino purred, examining what appeared to be a torn and slashed wedding dress that hung on a rack close at hand.

Sakura scoffed, "High school dances are lame. I'm looking for a pair of vinyl pants. Sasuke is taking me to The Underground."

Ino boggled. "That place is 18+!"

Sakura smirked. "Sweet little Ino, it's called a fake ID."

Ino struggled to recover her composure. Sakura peered over a shelf, down to where Temari crouched. "Temari? What are you doing?" Sakura asked.

Temari cursed mentally. "Checking out these stockings," she grunted unconvincingly. She rose to her feet, her face carefully blank. Being a spectator to the drama these two generated was more than enough.

"Are you going to the dance?" Sakura asked.

"Unfortunately," Temari grumbled. "My father insisted."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

Sakura turned to Ino. "I'd say you could come with us, but I know you wouldn't want to be a _third wheel_." Ino's cheeks burned, though her face was still carefully aloof. "Plus I know how much you'd hate to miss the Autumn Waltz. Your chance to really shine, and all that. Who are you going with? Chouji?" Sakura asked.

Ino colored. "I'm going alone, actually. Then I'm free to dance with any boy I want to," she sniffed.

"Good luck with that," Sakura replied, pushed past them without another word, and wound her way to the other side of the store.

Ino gave a "hmph!" and swirled to leave, whacking Temari in the face with her long ponytail as she did so. "C'mon, Temari. We have plenty of stores to get through," Ino beckoned.

---

Iced coffee wasn't cooling Ino's mood, though Temari's Cinnabon was certainly improving hers. They had been in almost every store that Ino felt was worth exploring, and had come up with nothing except enough photos to almost max out the memory on Ino's phone. She was cycling through the photos now, trying to decide on finalists while she slurped her Pumpkin Spice Latte.

"'Lame,' hmph, like she's going to get into The Underground. I hope she gets arrested," Ino fumed.

"Are you still on about that?" Temari asked, sucking cinnamon sugar from her fingertips. Ino didn't answer. "I'm starting to think this trip was a bust," Temari said, changing the subject. "Maybe I can wear a nice pantsuit or something."

"I guess it's hard to find one that isn't a fluffy ballgown," Ino said, deleting a photo.

"Either that or a shirtdress," Temari complained, bringing another chunk of cinnamon bun to her mouth. "I'the lthather wahg ah firthress."

"You can't wear a shirtdress to a formal," Ino sighed, surprised she could decipher Temari's dough-muffled speech. She sucked up some more coffee.

"Even to embarrass Neji?"

"Even then."

Temari made a little surprised noise. Ino looked up. Temari was on her feet, licking icing off of one hand and pointing with the other. Across from them, in a shop window, on a mannequin leaning back in that way that real humans could not lean without falling over, was a sleeveless, chocolate brown satin dress with a black lace overlay. Vines and flowers sparkled in the lace.

She drifted toward it, Ino following. Inside the store, Temari seized one of the salesgirls. "Where is that dress? The one in the window?" she demanded.

"Over on the wall," the girl replied shakily. Temari released her, went to the rack, and began pawing along it, looking for her size. With a little crow of triumph, she clutched one to her chest as if someone was looking to snatch it from her.

Ino followed her to the door of the dressing stall. After a few minutes of clothes hitting the floor, Temari threw the door open.

"Oh it's nice!" Ino exclaimed. "The princess seams really show off your curves."

"Yeah, that's what I like about it," Temari said, turning this way and that to examine herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her socks, Ino noticed. "And it isn't too tight."

"Classy, striking but not too flashy," Ino assessed.

"And on sale," Temari said, giving the tag a satisfied look. "I'm getting it." She closed the door and pulled the dress up over her head. "Finally, we can get out of here..."

"You need accessories. And I still need to decide on a dress," Ino reminded her.

Temari grumbled. "How long?"

"The mall closes at nine, so..."

Temari groaned.

---

Neji was late. Temari glanced at her watch. It was almost time for the dance to start. A growl rumbled her throat; she hated being kept waiting. Shikamaru never dared keep her waiting; for anyone else, he'd show up when he damn well pleased, but for her he was on the dot, even though he still affected the usual careless unconcern, as if he happened to show up by accident. Neji was, she assumed, exercising control over her, hoping to whip her into a frenzy that she would be forced to contain or else embarrass herself by erupting. What a sight that would be, Temari the volcano while Neji stood all iceberg-cold and impassive.

If she had her way, Temari would have driven herself, yes even in the damned Lexus, and met Neji at the dance. But her father insisted the Hyuuga pick her up, claiming that was the proper way things were done. Temari suspected it was more so she couldn't escape.

She paced, telling herself it was practice for walking in these heels. Ino had shown her how to do it, one foot in front of the other as if walking a tightrope. Mincing little steps. Do not stride. She might as well have told Temari to walk on her hands instead. Try as she might, her body would rebel the second her thoughts strayed, to fall into its usual heavy-footed stride. Chiyo would be furious about the nicks and scuffs on the highly-polished hardwood floors, but Temari wasn't thinking of that either.

Maybe he would stand her up. She wouldn't know whether to be humiliated or relieved.

A beam of light panned across the windows, illuminating the curtains. Temari peeked out. A silver-gray Cadillac pulled to a stop. Temari vowed to make him hurt if he honked for her to come out.

The doorbell chimed, and Temari's father appeared from nowhere to pull the door open. Neji stood there, his blank, pale blue-gray eyes looking infinitely stoic. His suit was fairly standard and all black. He had tied back his long, brown hair at the nape of his neck.

"Good evening, Mr. Nosabaku, Temari," Neji said, his voice deep and smooth but somewhat clipped and stiff. _No doubt due to the silver spoon shoved up his ass,_ Temari thought.

"Neji, nice to see you again," Temari's father said as the men shook hands.

"My uncle sends his greetings," Neji said.

"How's business these days?" Temari's father went on. They continued to chat, ignoring her. Temari struggled to hide her annoyance as the minutes ticked by. Finally, Neji turned and offered his hand to her. "Shall we go?"

Temari swept past and out the door, ignoring the gesture and refusing to bid her father goodnight. Knowing him, he'd stay up to grill her on the whole affair, the bastard. The only time he took an interest in her life was when he was prying.

Neji caught up to her at the car. He came around to open Temari's door for her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of performing his condescending little "gentlemanly" rituals. She tugged the handle and flung the door open, almost knocking him aside, and got in, slamming the door shut harder than necessary.

The leather seats were warm, and softer than the stiff leather in the Lexus; it felt eerily like skin. Temari's father had a chair in his study, a recliner upholstered in the "butter-soft" leather that upscale furniture dealers always crooned over. She and Shikamaru had made love in it more than once when her father was away on business, enjoying the strangely sensual experience of being enveloped in something like skin. But even when the heat of their bodies warmed the leather, it never felt as alive as these seats. It made her skin crawl.

Neji had _better_ not get any ideas.

Neji got in the car, shut his door with exaggerated gentleness, and started the engine. It purred. "You look wonderful toni—" he began.

"—Don't even start, Hyuuga," Temari cut him off.

"I was trying to compliment you," he insisted.

"You were quoting Clapton."

A sharp expelling of breath was his only answer. Shifting into reverse, he gunned the engine and zoomed backwards down the driveway. Temari grunted as the seat belt dug into her chest.

They spent the ride in silence, Temari fuming and staring at the red lights of the dashboard, Neji driving as though he was by himself. He maneuvered into a visitor's parking space right in front of the main lobby and shut off the engine. Temari didn't wait for him to try and open her door for her; she flung it open and stepped out. She strode briskly towards the doors as if determined to get this night over with as quickly as possible. Neji's hand clamped onto her elbow, not harshly but transmitting his clear intention that they were going to keep up appearances. Temari slowed grudgingly and let Neji escort her, grinding her molars and plotting various tortures for her father.

She didn't see anyone she knew at the doors; just out of the circle of the front lights she saw the flick of a lighter flame and her mouth filled with the phantom taste of tobacco. Again she wondered when that taste went from part of a ritual she endured for Shikamaru's sake to something she craved under stress.

The music was a dull roar until Neji opened the door. The lobby was brightly lit, as usual, but beyond Temari could see the darkness of the gym and the flashing lights the rented DJ favored. Neji nodded at her to go inside first. She put on a haughty pout and went inside. The two underclassmen manning the ticket table looked up from their bored chatter. One nudged the other with her elbow. Temari's forehead furrowed. Had Ino been gabbing? The elbow nudger had a smug look on her face, as if a rumor had been confirmed and she had won a bet. Neji didn't seem to notice; he handed over their tickets to get punched.

Temari averted her gaze, her face growing hot. "Christ, Ino! Your nails are gouging my wrist!" she heard a familiar voice complain. Her head snapped up.

"I want to dance!" Ino was whining. Shikamaru's rolling eyes came to a stop on Temari. He paled. Temari's hands formed fists. Ino noticed Shikamaru's expression and followed his gaze to where Temari fumed. Her eyes widened.

"You promised!" Temari mouthed. Shikamaru gave her a helpless look.

Temari stalked over. Ino seemed to shrink back. "Ino, bathroom, now," Temari demanded. Ino swallowed and trailed after as Temari sought out the ladies' room.

The ladies' room was empty. Temari waited for the door to close before she whirled on Ino. "Didn't he tell you I asked him not to come tonight, so he wouldn't see?"

Ino stammered, "I—he—I had to come with somebody, Temari! And not Chouji, either. But I couldn't come by myself."

"Did you spread rumors around about me and Neji?" Temari demanded.

Ino seemed puzzled by the change in questioning. "N-no. Some people seemed confused when I showed up with Shikamaru, not that they should have been, it's not like we've been acting any different than usual, but—"

"I show up with Neji and people start drawing conclusions," Temari finished for her. "God damn my father!"

There was a bump against the door. Lightning-quick, Temari shoved Ino into an empty stall as a gaggle of girls shoved the door open and spilled inside. There was a clatter as they emptied makeup out of their purses for an emergency touch-up.

"You owe me five bucks, Suri," one girl sing-songed.

"I can't believe it," another girl, presumably Suri, said. "I thought those two were inseparable."

"It makes sense, though," a third girl said. "After all, Temari's family is rich, so's Neji's. Shikamaru's family just has that deer farm."

"But still!" Suri protested. "Why the hell would he hook up with Ino?"

The first girl gave her opinion, "Easy. Where better to rebound than in the arms of his best female friend? Ino's all heartbroken over the Sasuke-Sakura thing, I bet she threw herself at Shikamaru. Safe harbor, all that." Ino's eyebrows dove together, her mouth agape. Temari's expression was steely. Ino reached for the door, prepared to set the girls straight, but Temari clamped a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

The bathroom door swung open again. "What's the matter, Tenten?" the third girl asked.

"I can't _believe_ he'd come here with that bitch!" Tenten cried. "I asked him, like, right after I found out about the dance. He said he couldn't go. Bastard!" She blew her nose.

There was the sound of running water. "Hold still; your mascara is smudged." A pause. "There you go. Don't worry about Neji. The best thing you could do is to go out there and just have fun. Temari will drive him crazy before long; seduce him out from under her."

"That's right," Tenten said fiercely. "Let's go."

The door opened and the girls left. The bathroom was quiet again.

Ino's mouth still gaped. "They think you dumped Shikamaru for Neji?" she said in disbelief.

"Bitch? Where does she get off?" Temari spat. "She's _welcome_ to him."

"Speaking of, we should probably go back out there," Ino reminded her. Temari glared. "Look, I'm really sorry, okay? I shouldn't have made Shikamaru go after he told me you didn't want him to. And I had no idea people would jump to all these conclusions."

Temari sighed. "Just keep him as far away as possible, all right?"

"I'll try."

They left. Shikamaru was leaning against the wall outside, bored as always. His suit looked second-hand and too big; it was probably his father's. The tie was already loosened and crooked. Neji stood a short distance away, his arms folded. Temari took a breath and walked past Shikamaru. She felt his eyes on her as she reached Neji's side, though his face betrayed nothing through its mask of nonchalance. Neji gave her an impertinent jerk of his head and led her into the gym.

The temperature seemed to rise several degrees as soon as they stepped inside. Temari followed Neji through the crowd, the strobe lighting making him seem like a series of stop-motion cutouts snaking into the heart of the gym. Of course they had to be there in the middle, where everyone could see them, where Temari couldn't find a convenient wall to lean against to catch her breath. This was going to be an endurance test.

They reached the spot in the middle of the gym floor, the half-court mark where a massive green frog was painted within a circle of letters reading, "Konoha High School Bullfrogs." The deafening feedback of noise was impossible to identify, but the change in the beat's tempo signaled the start of a new song. Neji danced fluidly, deftly, Temari noticed. She had expected him to be stiff and jerky, but he looked so natural. She forgot he practiced martial arts; of course it would lend him grace of movement. She felt clumsy and halfhearted in comparison as she tried to keep up with the beat, her cheeks burning as if all eyes were on her. She thought she saw people whispering to each other, looking at her, but every time she turned her full attention, they stopped. It drove her nuts, like a flicker of light in her peripheral vision that she could never see directly.

Shikamaru and Ino were barely visible, near the edge of the crowd by the door of the gym. Apparently Shikamaru didn't want to make the effort of wading through the crowd, so Ino grudgingly performed her usual wiggly-slithery movements out on the edge where hardly anyone could see her. For his part, Shikamaru stood with his hands in his pockets, bobbing his head side to side and shrugging his shoulders every once in awhile. He looked miserable.

The night passed at an agonizing pace. Temari seemed unable to move without jostling someone, and the press of the crowd kept moving Neji closer and closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. Just when Temari was thinking of excuses she could make to convince Neji to drive her home, the DJ decided the kids had done enough grinding and that it was time for a slow dance.

Neji reached out and lay a hand on Temari's hip, an action that most days would result in an aching scrotum, overwhelming nausea, and the sting of well-deserved tears. He grabbed her hand. Temari lay a hand gingerly on his shoulder. How could his hands be so warm and dry when hers were clammy? He began to lead her in, quite seriously, an actual waltz, however abbreviated due to the lack of room. Temari gave him an incredulous look. Was he for real? Every other couple around them was clinging desperately to each other and shuffling their feet in a slow circle, some with their mouths nearly fused, sloppily devouring each other like a hurried lunch. Not that she wanted anything like that, of course, but she didn't expect to use actual dance moves either.

Temari knew how to waltz, but she had never learned how to follow. Neji pulled her insistently, making her stumble. "I'm the man; follow my lead," Neji said.

"Fuck you," she hissed between clenched teeth.

Neji pulled her so close that their bodies touched. Temari was grateful she felt no telltale bulge at his crotch; deal or no deal, she'd have gut-punched him if he was getting off on this. "Maybe it'd be easier to follow my movements if you're closer," Neji explained, though the slight sneer tugging the corner of his mouth proved he was enjoying her discomfort. Temari fought off a shudder and slid her arm so her elbow rested on his shoulder and her palm was flat against his upper back. She told herself she would twist him into a headlock if need be.

She looked over Neji's shoulder. Shikamaru and Ino had somehow spun closer to them; they danced arms' length apart, Shikamaru with both hands on Ino's waist, Ino with both hands on Shikamaru's shoulders. They looked like little kids afraid of cooties. Shikamaru's eyes roamed over to Temari and she winced.

Neji noticed. He looked over at Shikamaru with a triumphant smirk. Shikamaru's eyes narrowed, and Ino glanced over her shoulder to see what was going on.

Neji turned his head and crushed his lips against Temari's mouth. She let out a protesting grunt, but his arm was around her waist, his other hand slipped from hers and was holding the back of her head now, so she couldn't escape. Temari squirmed as Neji forced his tongue past her tightly-pressed lips. Both of her hands were planted on his chest, pushing, but he was too strong, how could he be so much stronger than her?

Temari chomped her teeth down on Neji's tongue; he cried out and shoved her away. Temari fell back and spat, then hauled back her hand and cracked Neji across the face with the flat of her palm. The sharp smack seemed to cut through the music, and whoever wasn't staring before sure was now.

"Bitch!" Neji cursed, his gray eyes flaring with the only true fire Temari had ever seen in them.

"Just who the fuck do you think you are?" Temari raged. She could see Tenten pushing through the crowd to come to Neji's side. Temari was shaking. She wanted to hurt someone, anyone who spoke or laughed. Her lips felt bruised. She could taste blood in her mouth. Neji's cheek was flaring crimson. His eyebrows came together so sharply that it looked like someone had carved an X into his forehead. _What_ _the hell did he expect?_ she wondered. There was only so far she'd go, and he had pushed her well past that.

"I'm out of here," Temari growled, turning to shove her way through the crowd, heedless of who she was jostling, until she hit the edge and broke free. She waited until she left the gym before breaking from a stiff, angry trot into a gallop.

Shikamaru let go of Ino and started after. "Temari!" he called. Temari didn't stop. He hurried and caught up. "Hey," he said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. She was at the doors now, ignoring the questioning looks of the ticket-takers. Temari whirled on him and for a moment before she realized who he was, her eyes were all fire.

She softened, almost too far, almost to the edge of tears. "I'm sorry," she said in a tiny voice. Then she turned and pushed through the doors.

Shikamaru followed her out. The cold night air hit Temari like a bucket of water. She froze in place with a shudder, bringing her hands up to rub her shoulders. Shikamaru shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it on her. They shuffled on until they hit the sidewalk.

"I don't have a ride home," Temari said. Her eyes slid over to Neji's car, and narrowed. She lifted a leg and brought the spike of her heel down onto the hood, hard. Bang! It left a dent the size of a dime. Temari stumbled back, almost scared of what she'd done.

"Hey," Shikamaru said softly, reaching out for her. He knew Temari had to be handled delicately when she was riled. "I'll call my dad. He'll pick us up. You can stay over; that way you won't have to face your dad 'til tomorrow when you feel better. Okay?" He held Temari's face in his hands. She nodded.

"Good," Shikamaru said, and kissed her lips gingerly, as if afraid to hurt her. Temari let out a shuddering breath and pulled him close. They embraced a moment or two, then let go. Shikamaru reached over to the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a cell phone to call his parents.

Temari slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket and shivered. She felt itchy where Neji had touched her, and her mouth tasted sour. Shikamaru snapped the phone shut. "He's on his way," he told her, and hugged her from behind. Temari leaned back against him. He felt warm and comforting.

"Ino—" Temari began.

"She'll be okay. We met here, so her dad was going to pick her up again afterward. I think she'll understand. She'd better," Shikamaru added in an undertone. "I'm sorry I came with her."

Temari shook her head to show him that didn't matter. "If you weren't here," she reminded him, "I'd be trying to walk home in these heels right now."

"Then I'm sorry I didn't kick Neji's ass," he murmured.

"Why should I let you have all the fun?"

Ten minutes later and they were in Shikaku Nara's warm car, smelling of pine air freshener, classic rock humming from the stereo. He didn't ask how the dance was, and didn't burden them with talk.

Temari slid her hand across the soft fabric of the seat until she encountered Shikamaru's. He curled his fingers around hers and held on tight.


	3. Chapter 3 Aftermath

Neji wasn't that surprised to see Shikamaru leaning so very casually against the lockers, next to the one he knew was Neji's. Despite his chauvinist rhetoric of "man's duty" and "woman's place," Shikamaru wasn't one to leap to his lady's defense, no schoolyard white knight aching for the excuse to put his fist into someone's jaw for some imagined slight against "his girl." If anything, he was most likely to heave himself up with an eye-roll and a groan of, "pain in the ass," before finishing what Temari had started, once she had her fill. Nor was Temari the kind who would whirl her anger toward her guy and yell, "Why didn't you do something?" if he failed to put forth the requisite effort. She would have been more upset if he had stayed to clean the gym floor with Neji's hair instead of rushing after her, no matter if he was "defending her honor" or not.

But still, it was likely Shikamaru would say _something_, if only warn Neji that Temari had it out for him with brass knuckles. Shikamaru was merely the messenger of threats. Temari preferred to handle the follow-through on her own.

Neji grunted. Shikamaru jerked an eyebrow upward and continued not to look at the Hyuuga. "You're a fucking moron, you know," was all he said.

"Why, are you going to kick my ass?" Neji retorted as he dialed his combination in.

"_I'm_ not."

"She did plenty already. As if assaulting me wasn't enough, she put that dent in my hood." Neji sneered. "She's lucky I don't sue her ass off."

_You're one to talk about assault, _Shikamaru thought, but what he said was, "Boo hoo, you're lucky that's all she did. I had to wrestle a rock away from her," Shikamaru fibbed. He always did like adding extra spice. "You're insured anyway." He was weary of the topic. He finally looked over at Neji. The other continued to shuffle his books around. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Don't be coy, sweetheart."

"I got carried away in the moment," Neji lied.

"Bullshit. I saw the look on your face. Lovely bruise, by the way," Shikamaru said, nodding at the reddish-purple blush of Neji's cheek. "As if you weren't torturing her enough—"

"You think I wanted to take that she-demon?" Neji muttered.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," Shikamaru said. "What would you have done if she'd played along, eh?" He seized the collar of Neji's expensive wool coat. "I know you'd do anything to please that uncle of yours, so you get your hands on that business when his time comes. How far does that go?" he hissed. "Is he already talking about hooking a powerful wife? Do you have to consummate before the board of directors?"

"Unhand me," Neji demanded, too calmly for his burning eyes.

Shikamaru released his grip and Neji backed a pace. The fierce look on Shikamaru's face receded back to nonchalance. "Temari told me about those heated seats in your car. Maybe you'll let us borrow it sometime, eh?" He loped away. Neji shook his head and scowled. He kicked his locker shut and set off for class.

---

Halfway across the school, Temari was having her own confrontation. She had been ignoring stares ever since she stepped out of her car, people around her gawking with either scorn or admiration at the girl who dared raise a hand to Neji Hyuuga. She didn't care for either; she was still thinking about the talk she had with her father when she got home on Saturday afternoon. While she didn't have to slap him, Temari's father did agree that Neji went too far and that leaving had been a wise choice on Temari's part. He did say, however, that she should have called him for a ride if she was uncomfortable with demanding that Neji drive her home, instead of running off to Shikamaru's, leaving no one else aware of where she was. He had been worried, he insisted. He didn't mention the dent in Neji's car, which probably meant that Neji hadn't mentioned it either. She wondered why.

It was because Temari was lost in thought that she didn't notice, as she stood at her locker, that Tenten was marching over, trailing curious spectators. What alerted her was the small fist that bashed into her cheek, knocking her head sideways to ricochet off the open door of her locker. Even disoriented, she caught the next fist and squeezed. Tenten yelped. "What the fuck is your problem?" Temari roared, stomping the heel of her boot into the toe of the other girl's sneaker.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, hitting Neji like that?" Tenten demanded, her jaw clenched as if stifling a cry at the pain.

"Who the fuck do _I_ think _I_ am?" Temari retorted. "Did you see what he did?"

"Yes," Tenten spat. Jealousy, then, not just anger.

"What are you then, his champion?" Temari taunted. "I should have figured a pansy like Neji would need a girl to defend what little honor he has."

Tenten screamed and jabbed Temari in the gut. Temari crumpled back against the lockers and caught a sneaker to the jaw. Her teeth clicked shut on the edge of her tongue and she tasted blood. Tenten's rubber sneaker sole was softer than, say, the hardened tread of Temari's own combat boot, but she could feel the burning of blood becoming a bruise. Temari had forgotten that Tenten was Neji's sparring partner. The girl was wiry and quick, but Temari was bigger. If she could get her down…

Tenten was coming in for more, but the steel toe of Temari's boot cracked a rib and sent her sprawling. Temari was on her instantly, Tenten's throat in the crook of her arm, her knee planted into the girl's lower back. She grabbed one of Tenten's buns and yanked her head back. "Listen, little bitch," she hissed as Tenten gasped for air, "Neji deserved that slap, and I gave it to him. That's the end of it. Save your bullshit chivalry for someone else."

"What is going on here?!" came a bellow. Temari's head whirled around. Tenten went limp in her arms. She let go of the hold and dropped the girl's head face first onto the floor.

Tsunade, Konoha High's principal, stalked down the hall, her high heels drumming the linoleum, armored in her tailored pantsuit. Her assistant, Shizune, trailed behind. Temari stood, breathing heavily. At her feet, Tenten rasped for breath and groaned, still unconscious.

Shizune scurried to a stop at Tenten's side and examined her briefly while Tsunade gripped Temari's arm and glared. "What happened?" Tsunade demanded. Shizune was speaking into a walkie-talkie, requesting an ambulance.

"I don't know, she sucker-punched me," Temari said sullenly. "I was defending myself." She picked off the silky, brown hairs that trailed from between her fingers.

Tsunade looked to Tenten, then to the bloody mess that was Temari, and raised an eyebrow. "Who looks like they got it worse, huh?" Temari insisted. "Just 'cause she's unconscious?" She spat a gob of blood. Tsunade's nose wrinkled in disgust as the stain soaked into the rough, gray pile of the carpet.

"Come with me," the principal ordered, yanking Temari with her as she stalked to her office.

---

Silence crackled between Temari and her father as he drove. She was holding an ice pack to each cheek, the one Tenten punched and the one Tenten kicked. Temari was going to end up looking like a chipmunk with stuffed cheeks, black and blue. One of her molars was loose. Her stomach still hurt. _That fucking little cunt_, she thought venomously.

"Fighting, now," her father said, his voice taut.

"She came up to my locker and hit me without warning," Temari reminded him.

"So you say."

"I have witnesses."

"Good thing, too. If those people decide to sue…"

"What people? Her foster parents?"

"Be quiet!" her father shouted. Temari shrank down into her seat and scowled. In the backseat, Kankurou and Gaara wisely had their mp3 players turned up full blast. They gazed fixedly out their respective windows, but she could see Kankurou's eyes dart hesitantly back to her every few minutes.

"I might have to send you to Anbu for your own protection," her father went on.

"This all happened in the first place because you made me go to the dance with Neji!" Temari cried.

"Because you couldn't hold your temper then either."

"It has nothing to do with my temper!" Temari retorted. "Tenten is in love with the faggot, and when I showed up with him she was ripshit. Me hitting him was probably just an excuse. And you may notice that _I'm_ the one with bruises, and _she's_ the one who got wrestled unconscious, because _she_ was out for blood while _I_ was just trying to get a martial arts expert taken down before she did too much damage."

It was her father's turn to scowl and fall silent. "Stay away from both of them," he warned.

"No problem there," Temari said.

"I want you to use your three days suspension constructively," her father went on. "You should get started on some college applications, especially the essays."

"Fine."

"Six reach schools, five realistic, and three safety. You can use Hinokuni State, if you must, as a safety only," he allowed. Hinokuni State was probably where Shikamaru would end up, unless his genius grades got him a full scholarship elsewhere, which was likely enough.

"I probably will," Temari said.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Temari looked out the window. In the side-view mirror she could see Kankurou relax. Gaara was still staring out his window, drumming his fingers on his knee. She wondered what they thought of all this.

---

The trees continued their slow undressing as October blew through, the days getting cooler even as unseasonably warm stretches continued to flit through the weeks. Temari's applications were in, so she spent what little time she had left riding her motorcycle. Soon, she knew, she'd have to winterize it and put it away for another season.

To celebrate Shikamaru's birthday, she took him on a ride to the beach, where they bought double orders of fried clams and strolled in the cool sand while the salt wind whipped their faces to pink. Back home they were missing Ino's requisite birthday bash, which would earn them both a week of the silent treatment. Shikamaru joked that it was the best birthday present Ino could get him.

There were pumpkins on the front porch, which meant Chiyo had decided Halloween season had begun. The old woman loved dressing as a witch, settling herself on the porch swing, and staying absolutely motionless until an unsuspecting kid reached for the candy bowl. Then she'd straighten up with a bone-freezing howl and cackle as they ran away crying. There was usually a lot of candy left over at the Nosabakus'.

The announcement that there would be no Halloween Masquerade due to last year's "shenanigans" (which included, for one, all the first floor toilets being clogged with candied apples) was met with mixed reactions. Temari sighed in relief and shared a smile with the dozing Shikamaru as they sat in a beam of sunlight that poured through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the hallway. Their momentary peace was broken by Ino, who flopped down beside them to rave about how she already picked out her costume after a painstaking search (thankfully it was during the week of silence, so neither Temari nor Shikamaru was recruited to go with her) and how unfair it was and how they had to find some alternative so her efforts wouldn't go to waste.

In the library, Naruto sulked. "That sucks! The other dance was so much fun, right Hinata?" he said. Hinata gave him a shy smile and looked back to her notes; the two of them, along with Gaara, were working on a research project. Quite separate from the drama that surrounded Neji at the dance, Hinata had spent a lovely night as Naruto drew her out of her shell and actually got her to dance to a few songs. When she was intractable, Naruto seemed content to lean against the wall with her and shout-talk over the music. He hadn't "forced himself on her" as her father had warned her before allowing the boisterous blond to escort her, and at the end of the night he gave her a gentlemanly enough kiss on the cheek which made her flush hot and feel dangerously giddy.

"There'll probably be a party going on somewhere, don't you think?" Naruto asked.

"I don't know," Hinata replied in a whisper. "No one tells _me_ about them." She seemed to withdraw further behind her curtain of shining dark hair.

"Who cares? Halloween's for kids," Gaara muttered and flipped a page. He felt Naruto's eyes on him and looked up. The blond's baby blues were shining and eager with a sudden idea. Gaara blinked. "What?"

"Your house is pretty big, right? Think your dad will mind?" Naruto asked.

Gaara blinked again. "Mind what?" he asked, his usually monotone voice edged with trepidation.

In the cafeteria, Kankurou peeked over the sketch pad propped on his knees and watched Sasuke and Sakura as they perched on the edge of one of the stone walls that circled a raised area of landscaping. Sakura was straddling Sasuke; their faces tilted together as they talked and kissed.

Kankurou's pencil snapped in his grip. He let it drop into his lap and snatched up his paper coffee cup, sucking the last of the dregs from the bottom. He slammed the cup down and looked back to his sketchpad. Chiyo had managed to pick the deadbolt lock, or lifted his keys to make a copy of his deadbolt key, or did something to break into his room (he wouldn't put it past the old witch to use some dark magic or shimmy open a window). He returned from school one day to find it sparkling clean, and several key puppets missing. This sketch was a design for a new puppet of the housekeeper herself.

Outside, the making out was getting heavier; Sasuke was kissing Sakura's neck. Kankurou prayed that a teacher would look out the window on the floor above and rail at them. He wished Principal Tsunade would storm out, yank them apart, and suspend them both.

Sakura's half-closed eyes met his. There was a pain like a zap of electricity through his heart, and a momentary weakness as he let his anguish show on his face. Half a heartbeat and he regained control, fixing her with a glare that he hoped would pierce her in the same way. Sakura rolled her eyes and turned back to Sasuke.

"Hey," came a voice behind him. Gaara. Kankurou started and turned his glare to his brother.

"What."

"I need a costume idea."

Kankurou's brow furrowed. "What?"

"A costume. You know, for Halloween."

"Why?"

A normal person would have sighed. Gaara didn't. "Do you think the sperm donor will let us have a Halloween party?"

"Yeah, right." Kankurou flipped his sketchpad shut and reached for his backpack.

"I'm serious."

"I highly doubt it," Kankurou replied as he stood and slung his pack onto his shoulders. "Go ahead and ask, but I doubt it." They walked out of the cafeteria and Kankurou peered at Gaara sidelong from the depths of his hood. "Why the hell do you want to throw a party anyway? Who will you invite? You have no friends."

"Naruto does," Gaara replied.

"Ohhh… I see. Your boyfriend talked you into this."

"He's not my boyfriend," Gaara said, deadpan as always.

"Why doesn't _he_ throw the damn party?" Kankurou asked, hurling his cup into the trash as they passed.

"His dad won't let him. They live in an apartment."

"So he wants to use you for the house. The place'll get trashed."

Gaara fixed one green eye on him. "What do you care about the sperm donor's crap?"

Kankurou gave a short bark of a laugh. "Good point," he remarked. "Well, maybe you'll end up lucky and he'll be out of town that weekend."

Gaara let a breath out. "Maybe." He looped his thumbs through the straps of his backpack. "So what should I be, then?"

His brother thought for a minute. "Well," he said, "they do call you the 'rabid raccoon'…"

---

It was another "dinner with Daddy" night at the Nosabaku's, spaghetti this time, and informal. Kankurou seemed like he had done his best to goth up twice as much as usual. Temari had at least changed her shirt; as much as she hated changing anything to suit her father, she hoped to stay as invisible as possible at this dinner. Gaara had told her the plan he had for a party, and Temari had spent almost half an hour trying to explain why it was possibly the worst idea she could think of. "They're going to come here, and use us up, and trash our shit, and leave us to hang!" she warned him.

"It'd be nice to have some friends, Temari. You get by with just Shikamaru but I have no one. Naruto knows some nice people," Gaara argued. True, those "nice" people often stopped talking abruptly when he approached with Naruto, and whispered in his wake, their eyes tracking sideways to watch him depart. But really, it was his own fault for building up his scary reputation. He'd prove to them that he had changed.

Temari had groaned and rolled her eyes. "Fine. This goes down, I'm locking myself in my room and anything that happens, I didn't know was going on. Got it?" Her finger poked Gaara sharply in the chest and Gaara nodded and said, "Fine."

Now Kankurou was slowly winding his entire plate of pasta up into one huge gob on his fork, Temari was gnawing on garlic toast, and their father was sipping his wine and looking thoughtfully out into space. On Gaara's plate, a meatball was carefully sliced as thin as he could get it.

He couldn't put it off much longer. He never remembered feeling so scared to do anything before. Gaara opened his mouth.

"I'm going to be overseas the weekend of the thirty-first," their father said, his voice startling the three of them from their silent contemplation. "The Kumo division has hired a new VP of finance and I have to go to some meetings and dinners and such," he said. Temari almost laughed; the tone of his voice was the same Shikamaru used when rattling off his homework list. "Also, Chiyo has that weekend off, so you'll have to fend for yourselves."

Gaara let a breath out, slowly. Kankurou flicked an eyebrow upwards, and Temari's mouth was taut. She shot her brothers a warning look.

After dinner, Temari cornered Gaara in the hallway to their rooms. "You're not seriously going to throw a party with Dad out of town, are you?" she hissed. "There's no way he won't find out!"

"It's better to ask forgiveness than permission," Gaara said.

"It's your grave you're digging," Temari warned. She whirled away from him and disappeared into her own room. Gaara shook off the feeling of dread and went to call Naruto to tell him the good news.


	4. Chapter 4 The Party

Temari knocked the dusty bottle against Shikamaru's elbow and chuckled. They were leaning against Temari's windowsill enjoying a post-coital cigarette. Temari was wearing Shikamaru's t-shirt, still naked underneath. Shikamaru was in his boxers. He gave her a half smile and took the bottle from her, took a pull. "What is this?" he asked, wincing as he handed it back to her.

"Blackberry schnapps. Back of the cabinet; he'll never miss it. I think someone gave it to him as a gift or something," Temari said with a shrug. She set the bottle back on her bedside table and sank back against Shikamaru. He idly rubbed one of her nipples through her t-shirt.

"I take it the apple vodka's gone, eh?"

Temari waved her hand as though there were no bones in her wrist. "There were only two shots in there," she said. She had chosen that one because there had been another full,

unopened bottle waiting. Her dad wouldn't remember the partial one. This was how she had been getting away with it for years, preying on bottles he had forgotten, bottles that he wouldn't remember whether they were almost finished or finished.

Another engine rumbled as yet another guest of Gaara's pulled up the long driveway. Shikamaru stretched to look. "Looks like Ino," he said.

Temari gave another slow chuckle and stretched. "Think she'll be pissed we're not down there?"

"Who cares?" Shikamaru said, and stubbed out his cigarette. Ino was late; the party had been going on for an hour already, the house shaking with dance music and people shouting. She probably spent the extra time getting her outfit just right. The couple watched her get out of her car, wearing a sheer next-to-nothing harem girl outfit, her blond hair in a topknot. She turned and waved, and the car backed away down the driveway, headlights silhouetting her costume, making her look like she was dressed in smoke.

"She must be cold," Temari said. Their breath was starting to steam on the night air. She hauled the window shut and Ino's head snapped up at the sound. Temari and Shikamaru

ducked out of sight, giggling. Temari shot a glance to her door; the deadbolt was in place. Ino wouldn't be bothering them.

"She's trying to show off for Sasuke no doubt," Shikamaru said.

Temari snorted. "Good luck to her." They had gone down earlier for pizza and to nab more liquor, and witnessed Sasuke, dressed as The Crow, and Sakura, in some unidentifiable

"dark queen" getup, getting very comfortable in one of the big leather recliners in the den. To Temari it appeared they were trying to meld together; Sakura was on Sasuke's lap,

straddling him, their mouths wide open and sealed together. Temari just shook her head and took her pizza, alcohol, and boyfriend up to her bedroom where, unlike the couple in the

chair, they could have some real privacy, and some real sex.

"Ino can hang out with Kankurou," Temari went on. Her brother had dressed up as a samurai. Gaara, in his makeshift raccoon costume, tried his best to mingle or at least ride

along in Naruto's wake as the blonde made the rounds. Kankurou didn't try; he sat by himself next to the food table, watching Sasuke and Sakura's antics get more and more explicit and

furiously gripping the handle of his plastic katana until the cheap, injection-molded seams began to split.

"They should just get together," Shikamaru yawned, meaning Kankurou and Ino.

Temari grumbled, "Don't even joke," and grabbed the bottle of schnapps for another swig. Her body felt pleasantly loose, her head swimming. Shikamaru's hands felt extra good against her skin; drinking affected her this way, made every sensation seem twice as interesting until she got _too_ drunk and it passed into numbness.

She rolled onto her stomach, snuggled up in Shikamaru's lap, and tugged at his waistband. "Again?" he said, unable to believe his luck. He settled back with a grin. "I love our parties," he grunted.

Ino pressed the doorbell and shivered. She was beginning to regret her costume; true, she wanted to impress Sasuke and upstage Sakura, but as the hub through which all rumors at school passed, Ino had heard a _lot_ of people talking about this party. Either Naruto had issued an open invitation, or was incredibly laid-back about letting people bring friends. Even though she had assured her mother that it was a small party with no drinking, her mother had told her, "Watch your drink. I don't know why I let you out of the house dressed like that, but you're asking to be assaulted." The silence after that carried them across town and up the Nosabakus' driveway, where Ino got out and told her mother to pick her up for curfew.

Music thudded inside. No way would they hear her ring or even knock. Ino tried the handle and the door opened. She went inside. Fake cobwebs, balloons, and streamers hung from the banisters of the stairs in the entryway. A jack-o-lantern, its face carved with an expansive grin and squinched-shut eyes, sat on a side table beneath a poster board sign that read, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." The arrow pointed toward the den.

All the light bulbs in the room had been replaced by black and orange lights. Furniture was pushed aside and the huge Persian rug that dominated the middle of the room had become the dance floor. Naruto was out there now, with a crowd of people Ino recognized from school, and some she didn't. Others wore masks or so much makeup that she couldn't tell if she knew them or not. Neither Neji nor Tenten seemed to have shown up. Ino let out a breath, then started as Hinata appeared from nowhere bearing a tray of cupcakes.

"Happy Halloween, Ino!" she said. Even in ideal conditions her voice was barely audible; Ino strained to hear it over the din. "Would you like a cupcake?" They were decorated with candy to look like cat faces. Hinata was dressed in a black one-piece swimsuit over white tights, with white gloves and cat ears, her face painted with whiskers and a pink triangle on the tip of her nose.

"Thanks," Ino said, and took one. She looked around. "Who are all these people? Did Gaara and Naruto invite them all?"

Hinata glanced around quickly. "I don't think so," she admitted, gnawing her lip. "I think people just showed up. Some of them brought booze." She leaned in closer to Ino. "I went in the kitchen to get more napkins and some of them were leaning on the stove, smoking joints with the hood vent on." She looked down at her cupcakes. "I hope the police don't come."

"Oy! Hinata!" Naruto shouted. Hinata started and looked over. He waved his hand, beckoning her over.

"I don't want to dance, but…" Hinata trailed off, looking from Ino to Naruto. "Can you take over for me, Ino? Thank you!" She held the tray out to Ino, who took it, and threaded her way through the crowd to Naruto. He pulled Hinata to him and kissed her. Ino watched Hinata's face redden, but the girl seemed pleased. Naruto looked a bit unsteady himself; someone handed him a cup, which he drained in one go before starting to dance. Hinata hesitated, then began to dance somewhat self-consciously, her movements stiff as her eyes darted around the crowd.

Ino turned with the tray and almost bumped into Gaara. He was wearing a makeshift raccoon costume: khakis with a gray sock, stuffed and painted with stripes, pinned to the rear; a gray hoodie with ears sewn on the hood; eyes doubly-lined. "Hi," Ino said.

"Hi. Aren't you cold?" Gaara stared at her unblinkingly. Ino felt twice as naked.

"Uh, no, it's kind of hot in here, actually. All these people," she replied. "Where are Temari and Shikamaru?"

Gaara pointed to the ceiling. "Upstairs. They didn't like the crowd."

Ino looked around. "I don't even _know_ the crowd," she said.

"I don't either," Gaara admitted. "But it's nice to be popular."

People seemed to be giving Gaara at least four feet of personal space. Ino looked over to where Naruto danced, surrounded by people. "Uh huh," Ino said.

"You can set those down over on the table. No one seems interested in eating," Gaara told her, pointing. A folding table was set up against one wall, with coolers lined up in front of it. Gaara went to bask in Naruto's popularity. Ino went over to the table and shoved aside some empty beer cans to set the tray down between the cold pizza and the display of withering, untouched veggies and dip. A couple of guys came over and grabbed a slice of pizza. One elbowed the other, snickering, and said, "Hey, I didn't know they hired strippers! When's the show start?" he leered through half-closed lids, running his tongue over his upper teeth. "Yeah, take it off, baby," his friend added, knocking back more of his beer.

"Fuck off," Ino growled. The pair stumbled off, laughing. Ino's cheeks burned. She walked over to where Kankurou stood at the end of the table, glowering. Ino followed his gaze to see Sakura undulating against Sasuke in a leather recliner, in the shadows at the far end of the room. Her short, black skirt rode up; Sasuke's hand disappeared beneath. Ino's face burned as she felt jealousy rush through her, making her weak and shaky. "Well," Ino said in a taut, low voice, "There's no way I'm getting his attention now." She took a bite of the cupcake in her hand. "Nice costume," she said to Kankurou.

"Thanks, you too," he said automatically.

"You barely looked at it."

"What's to look at?" Kankurou responded without thinking. Ino's eyes narrowed. She

shoved the half-eaten cupcake at him, adjusted her bra, and stalked over to the squirming couple.

"Happy Halloween, Sasuke!" she cooed. Sasuke looked up at her with glazed eyes and

annoyance. Sakura ignored her and nibbled Sasuke's ear. "What do you think of my costume,

hmm?" She struck a pose.

Sakura looked at Ino and snorted. "Put some clothes on, Ino-pig. We can see your fat

rolls."

Ino's eyes widened as if she'd been slapped. Sasuke turned Sakura back toward him to

resume kissing. Ino walked away, red-faced and shaking with rage.

Kankurou shook his head knowingly and handed back the half cupcake. Ino slapped it

from his hand. With a growl, Kankurou seized a handful of flimsy fabric. "Listen," he hissed

over the music, "don't get bitchy with me. I didn't fucking do anything."

"Let go! You're going to rip it!" Ino shrieked, turning her rage on him. "Do you now how much this cost?"

"Way too much, probably," Kankurou replied, releasing her. "You should've worn something with a mask."

Ino gasped. "What, are you saying I'm ugly?"

Kankurou boggled. "What—no! Christ, women are nuts. Haven't you read books? Show up at the masquerade as the beautiful mysterious woman under the mask, who no one recognizes? The main dude is amazed but you refuse to dance with him until the end of the night, then you take off your mask at midnight and he falls madly in love with you? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Why were you reading a book like that?" Ino asked.

Kankurou shrugged. "It was for a class or something, I don't know." He shot a glare over to the other side of the room. "I don't know what you see in that prick anyway. He's

just some whiny little mopey asshole. What would it be like hanging around with him?"

"That," Ino replied, jerking a thumb toward the couple.

"Yeah but aside from that, what would you do, spend the day talking about how much everything sucks? Listen to his stories about how he got each scar?" Kankurou stuck out an

arm and pointed to imaginary cuts. "'This one was when my mom told me to do my homework or no dessert. This one was from the time I had to vacuum the living room. This one was when they ran out of nachos at lunch.' Come on!"

"He's an orphan, Kankurou!" Ino protested. "His parents are dead and his brother killed them and now he's all alone. I'd be depressed too!"

"Why do you want to be around that? Why get involved in all that bullshit baggage?"

"I can help him. I can help… heal his pain…" Ino trailed off. It sounded stupid when she said it to Kankurou. Stupid and childish. "So, why are you into Sakura, then?" she snapped.

Kankurou shrugged. "She's pretty. And she was nice to me, once."

"Is she the only one, or do you have several other Halloween parties to go and glower at?"

"No, she's pretty much it," Kankurou said. "And that was a long time ago." He tore his eyes away from the couple and stared at the gobs of slowly melting orange sherbet floating in the punch bowl.

"Sorry," Ino said in a tiny voice. "Hey, we could, yknow…" she trailed off.

"Could what?"

"Um, make out. Try to make them jealous."

"One, that stupid shit only works in movies. Two, it only works if the people in question have any small speck of interest in you in the first place," Kankurou grumbled. Three, he was about to add, was that he'd rather make out with the jack o' lantern than with Ino. Which wasn't exactly true because, he had to admit, Ino was pretty fucking hot.

"I guess you're right," Ino said, pressing her hand to her forehead and looking about to be sick or cry or both. "I'm an idiot."

"You and me both," Kankurou sighed. He set his mouth. "Want to check out my puppets?"

Ino paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning the walls, the countless effigies of people she knew (just about everyone she knew), and people she never met and never would, in various stages of mutilation. Some had obviously been made for a single frustration: a nearly featureless, generic girl with an apron and a nail through her head; a man with a mall security guard's uniform drawn on in marker, his eyes scratched out. These were hastily made, attacked once, and hung to be forgotten.

Then there were the others, mostly faces she recognized, actually carved out of wood instead of painted on. Their clothes were actual cloth, pasted onto their wooden bodies. Some were only faintly marred, others much-patched, and some so new that they must have been fresh copies.

Kankurou sat on his bed and said nothing as Ino padded into the room, as if afraid they would come to life around her. On the desk lay three puppets. Neji was one, to judge by the long hair and gray eyes. She reached for the puppet, and hesitated. "Go ahead," Kankurou said. Ino jumped at the break in the silence. "You can touch them."

She took up the puppet. The mouth was sealed with a gob of wax, the strings to the wrists cut, leaving the hands limp and useless. "For Temari," Kankurou said. Ino was touched. Creeped out, but touched. "She doesn't know about it, but it made me feel a little better, anyway," he went on, then lapsed into silence, afraid of telling too much.

Ino set the Neji puppet down, moved to the next two. There was a Sakura puppet, on its back, unharmed except for a hole gouged into the chest to the left of where a breastbone would be. Atop it was a puppet so often and deeply cut that the limbs looked ready to snap in any number of places. The flipped-up spikes of black hair identified it as Sasuke.

Unnerved by this unexpected peek into Kankurou's warped psyche, Ino backed away from the desk. She looked at Kankurou. He was staring at the floor. She swept her gaze over the walls again, searching. "When I was little," she said, licking her dry lips, "I had this doll, one of those dolls with makeup that shows up when you run an ice cube over the face? She had these huge eyes, I mean plastic, huge, shiny, manga eyes, and long nylon eyelashes. I thought it was the coolest thing, so I begged for it for Christmas.

"I put her on one of my shelves, and sometimes at night I'd wake up and she'd be staring at me. I know it's stupid, that's what dolls and stuffed animals do. There isn't an intent behind it or anything. But it creeped me out. I'd imagine she'd come to life and at any minute she would move, and come, I dunno, attack me or something." Ino shuddered. "I guess my point is, don't these things freak you out? Don't you have nightmares that all these things you've tortured will want payback?"

"No," Kankurou said, getting to his feet. He wandered over to the wall, lifted a puppet in his palm. "They're just puppets. I control them," he added, letting the puppet swing back against the wall with a clack. "They wouldn't come alive. Even as voodoo dolls they're useless."

"Why do you make them, then?" Ino had to ask. Her eyes still traveled as she searched for a topknot blonde ponytail.

"Some people scream and punch holes in walls. Uchiha cuts himself. I take it out on these things." He moved to another puppet and lifted an arm delicately with the tip of his finger. "It's amazing how focusing on getting a tiny detail right makes you forget… and after taking all that time and work, destroying it. It's the same feeling people get when they hold a pet hamster and feel how delicate the ribs are, how easy it would be to squeeze…" Ino's upper lip curled. Kankurou went on, "How you can hold something fragile, so thin you can flex it and feel it bend, and know you shouldn't do it, because you'll break it, and the temptation to is just so—" he broke off.

"So where's mine?" Ino asked. "I can't find it."

Kankurou snapped out of his reverie. "There isn't one," he said. "You never gave me reason."

Ino blinked. She found Shikamaru, even Gaara and Temari, but not her.

"So," she said after a space, "does that make two girls who were nice to you, once?"

"No. You just weren't ever mean enough for me to care to spend the time."

Ino went cold, strangely insulted by his indifference.

Kankurou crossed to the desk and took up one of his X-acto knives. He held it out to Ino. She narrowed her eyes, confused. He nodded to the Sasuke puppet on the desk. "Go ahead. You'd be amazed how therapeutic it is," he offered.

Ino took the knife and picked up the Sasuke puppet. Kankurou had gotten the expression of arrogant disregard perfect.

With a little growl, Ino stabbed the knife into the wood.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the crowd chanted as Naruto upended the last of a bottle of beer into Gaara's mouth. Gaara swallowed hard and winced, his usually placid face tensing against the sickness in his stomach. Hinata twisted her fingers around each other, hunching her shoulders as the crowd around her hooted and applauded. Naruto threw an arm around Gaara and laughed. Gaara forced a smile and swallowed again.

A tall, broad young man in a hockey goalie's uniform, complete with mask, dug his elbows into the ribs of the friends on either side of him: one was dressed in torn thrift-store clothing, his face a mess of chunky zombie paint; the other wore a rubber skull mask that fit over his head, and a nylon jumpsuit with a skeleton painted on it. They slipped out of the room, down the hall toward the front door as if they were leaving.

"I saw her car in the garage, Jiroubou," said the zombie. "It has her name on the vanity plate."

The hockey masked faced whirled around. "Don't say my name, idiot. We're wearing masks for a reason." He turned to go up the stairwell.

"It should be to the right, at the end of the hall. She said she was here for a slumber party once," the skull said.

"That would've been years ago, wouldn't it?" the zombie asked.

"Best first place to look," said the skull. "You ready?" he asked the hockey player, slapping him on the back.

Neither of his companions could see his grin, but the tone of voice was undeniable. "Oh, you bet I am. Stuck up bitch is going to get a lesson tonight." He advanced.

Temari lay back on her pillows and waited for Shikamaru to come back from the bathroom. She had been there herself not long before, and as she passed Kankurou's door she saw Ino in there with him, stabbing one of those creepy puppets of his. She had shaken her head and kept on walking; Temari expected Kankurou to still be downstairs moping, and never thought Ino of all people would be hanging out with him.

She turned her head as the door swung open, but it wasn't Shikamaru, but a trio of guys in costume. Temari yanked the sheets up over herself. "Get the fuck out of here!" she shouted. "The party's downstairs, man, my room's off-limits."

"You're not off-limits, bitch," the guy in the hockey mask said. "You like to think you are, but you ain't. Heh." One of the others, wearing a skull mask and a jumpsuit painted with a skeleton, slid the deadbolt in place.

Temari's hand closed around the neck of a liquor bottle. She swung it up, but the hockey player caught her wrist and twisted. The bottle landed on the floor with a loud crack.

"Shikamaru!" Temari hollered. She tried to wrench her wrist away, but her muscles wouldn't respond right, like the signal was cutting out. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded. "What the fuck are you doing in here?" She got a cuff across the face for her trouble. It felt as if her head spun one way and her brain another. Through the concussion and the haze of alcohol she saw the hockey player undoing his belt. It clicked. Cold panic ran through Temari, sobering her up with adrenaline. She jammed her heel up against his crotch and he fell back, cursing.

"Bitch!" he hissed, cupping his junk. "Hold her down," he ordered the guy with zombie makeup all over his face. There was the sound of duct tape tearing. Temari screamed again as the zombie flipped her over on her front and his weight fell across her upper back, pinning her body and her arms as he wrapped the tape around her wrists.

"Fuck! FUCK!" she screamed.

"In a minute, jeez," the hockey player said, his voice mocking and cruel. "Eager, are we?" he said.

"Get off me!" Temari screamed. She tried to buck the zombie off, but he was too heavy. Weak and cold with terror, she kicked blindly. Huge hands wrenched her knees apart. Temari howled wordlessly.

"Shut up!" the hockey player yelled. The zombie cuffed her in the back of the head. "This is 'cause you didn't know your goddamned place! Whore!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Temari shrieked.

"Looks like she knocked the fight outta you. What are you gonna do now?" she heard the zombie say.

"There's gotta be something," the hockey player muttered. His eyes found the decorative candles on the bedside table, thick cylinders about two inches across. "If I can't have my fun," he said, and grabbed the longest one.

Temari felt like he was ripping her apart. Tears leaked from her eyes as she screamed, her face held down into her comforter so she could hardly breathe. "Someone help me! Please!" she screamed, over and over, until her voice gave out.

Shikamaru heard screaming. Somehow he knew it wasn't from a movie downstairs but from Temari's room at the end of the hall. Yanking his shorts back up, he ran unsteadily to her door and wrenched the handle. The deadbolt stopped him. "Goddamn it!" he grunted.

"Shikamaru!" Temari howled from the other side.

"Temari!" he cried hoarsely. He beat his fists on the door, kicked it, doing more damage to his hands and bare feet than to the door.

"Looks like you got her pretty sloppy already, she should be all right," a man's voice jeered from inside the room.

"No!" Shikamaru cried, realizing what was going on. "No! Stop it! Leave her alone!" He began shoving against the door with his shoulder, jumping against it, trying in vain to break it down. Temari's screams quieted to sobs.

Kankurou's head snapped up. "Did you hear that?" he asked Ino.

"What?" she said. Then she heard it too, a shout over the pulsing of the music. She had thought the screaming was from a movie on downstairs, but she heard Temari's name, and the harder she listened, it sounded more and more like Shikamaru screaming himself hoarse.

Kankurou was already tearing down the hall toward Temari's room. "Temari!" he shouted. "What's going on?" he demanded of Shikamaru. The young man's face was red, his eyes streaming as he battered the door.

"Someone's in there with her," he said. "They're—" he couldn't finish. Kankurou got the idea. Ino stood in the hallway behind him, frozen in fear.

"Stand back," Kankurou ordered. He ran back down the hall, then turned and ran toward the door, hurling himself against it. It shuddered but wouldn't budge. He backed up a few feet and threw himself at the door again, again, again, roaring, driving his shoulder into the unyielding wood. He staggered back with a grunt and gave the door a kick. The wood splintered around his boot but didn't give. "Ino, call the cops," Kankurou rasped.

Her cell phone was already open. "I'm at a party, my friend is locked in her room with some guys, they're hurting her!"

Shikamaru joined Kankurou in his efforts. "One, two, NOW!" Kankurou commanded. The door shuddered under their weight.

Sirens sounded as if from far off. "We gotta get out of here, man, let's go!" the skeleton urged. The hockey player straightened up, breathing hard, and pulled the candle out of Temari. She moaned. He let it fall to the floor with a dull thunk. It rolled a stripe of sticky red on the blue carpet.

The zombie scrambled off of her and wrenched the screen out of the window. "Down the roof, c'mon," he said, and climbed out of the window.

The hockey player was the last to go. "Remember this next time you feel like starting shit with your betters, bitch," he spat.

Temari lay like a dead thing, feeling herself withdraw into her head, away from the pain. She watched it with detached interest, like an observer in her head. It hurt. Oh. She heard pounding on the door. Someone was trying to get in. Oh. Someone was crying, not her. Crying was something she'd forgotten how to do all of a sudden. Unconsciousness was tugging at her, the way it always did when she got so drunk she couldn't stay awake, when she'd pool on the couch or the bed like someone had taken her bones. She felt numb around the edges, with a core of pulsating pain. She pulled back away from it.

Finally, something gave, and the door ripped away from its hinges. Kankurou and Shikamaru fell into the room, scrambling to their feet and tripping over themselves to get to Temari. Shikamaru got there first. "Temari," he whimpered, clutching her to him. She fell against him limply, not embracing him back. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"They went out the window," she whispered as he tore the duct tape off her wrists.

Kankurou was already there. The screen had been kicked aside. Ino ran in, saw the candle on the floor, Temari in Shikamaru's arms. Ino let out a horrified moan.

Shikamaru's eyes met Kankurou's. They didn't have to speak. Kankurou scrambled out the window, rolled onto the roof and leapt to the lawn. He could see shapes at the back edge of where the expansive lawn met the woods, three shapes splitting up. His feet pounded the ground as he took off after the biggest one, the one heading straight in the direction that would eventually bring him to the far end of the Nara's back forty. "Perfect," Kankurou growled.

Shikamaru turned to Ino. She was wringing her hands, her eyes red. "Stay with her, Ino."

"Where are you going?"

"After them," Shikamaru replied, pulling on jeans and his sneakers.

"Shouldn't we wait for the police?"

"The police?" Shikamaru shouted, more harsh than he intended. Ino jumped. "The fucking Uchiha couldn't even find one of their own kids after he gunned down his family! No, I'm doing this myself. Maybe they can have him when I'm done, if there's anything left." Then he was out the window too.

Ino sat down carefully and took Temari in her arms. The girl was eerily silent. The sirens got louder. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. "We're in here!" Ino called.

Black-uniformed men and women, the fan-shaped crest of the Uchiha family on their sleeves, burst in with guns drawn, aiming around the room. One officer aimed straight at Ino's face for an instant before taking in the situation. "They went out the window," Ino said. "Two of our friends went after them." A female officer moved closer, bent to see to Temari, who stared dully at nothing.

Another officer appeared. "Looks like most of the kids took off into the woods. Probably they didn't know what was going on and just thought the party was getting busted. I killed the sound system."

"Did you use a bullet or just the power button this time?" another officer snarked.

"Can the jokes, you insensitive pricks," the female officer barked. "Where's the ambulance?"

"On it's way," the officer at the door answered.

"Good," the woman said. Her face softened as she turned back to Temari. "You'll be all right," she said. Temari just stared at her, then closed her eyes as if she was sick of staring at nothing. "Here, let's get some clothes on you," the officer said.

"There's a bathrobe hanging on the closet door," Ino said. The officer handed it over and Ino wrapped Temari in it, lifting the girl's arms through the sleeves.

A new siren squealed outside, then cut out. Flashing red lights painted the walls. Gaara appeared in the doorway and stopped short, eyes darting from Temari to the liquor bottles and the candle on the floor. His jaw clenched, eyes bugging. His breathing was ragged.

"Are there any adults here? Where are your parents?" the female officer asked Temari.

Ino answered for her, "Their dad's away on a business trip. Their mother died years ago."

"It's my fault," Gaara said, his voice uncharacteristically strained. Ino wondered for a wild second if Gaara meant his mother's demise.

"What?" the officer asked.

"It's my fault!" Gaara screamed. "Arrest me! Fucking arrest me!" He charged into the room and the officer hooked him by the arms, restraining him.

"Calm down," the officer demanded.

Gaara was bawling now, thrashing. "I'm sorry, Temari!" he howled. "You were right, you were right… and now…" he couldn't go on.

Ino explained, "The party was his idea. It got out of control. We didn't know who half the people here were. Those guys must've come in with everyone else."

Feet thundered up the stairs. Temari opened her eyes as the paramedics entered the room.

"I'm going with her," Ino declared.

"Are you her sister?" one of the paramedics asked.

"Just about," Ino replied. "She needs me."

One of the other officers sighed. "Let her. We need to clear the scene, collect evidence. And find those kids." Ino released Temari from her embrace and let the paramedics prep her for departure.

By the time Shikamaru got to his parents' back fields, Kankurou had already managed to knock the guy out. He sat on him now, contemplating his plastic sword with cool malice.

"Who is he?" Shikamaru gasped, voice ragged as he caught his breath.

Kankurou spat. "I didn't think to ask first. He'll probably come around in a minute." He got up and bent down to yank the guy's pants down.

"What are you doing?"

Kankurou looked at Shikamaru as if he was stupid. "Gonna see how he likes it." He drew the plastic sword, nudged the tip between the buttocks of Temari's attacker, and shoved. The man awoke howling. Kankurou stepped on the back of his neck, driving his face into the dirt. "What's your name, fucker?"

"Jiroubou," the man sobbed. "Please don't—"

"You didn't listen to her pleading, now did you?" Shikamaru cut in. He felt like his blood was on fire, and he took a vicious pleasure in seeing this man in pain, sobbing in fear. He nodded at Kankurou, who gave the sword another short shove. Jiroubou yelped.

"It hurts!"

"No shit." Shikamaru forced himself to be cool, calculating, though he'd like nothing better than to rip apart this bastard who had ravaged Temari in the few minutes Shikamaru had left her unguarded. "Better get used to it. Your new boyfriend in prison won't be so gentle. Now you tell me why."

Jiroubou hesitated. Kankurou twisted the sword ever so slightly. "Stop trying to think up a story and tell us the truth!"

"She told me to. She gave me fuckin' two-hundred bucks to—"

"'She'?" Shikamaru repeated. "Who is this 'she'?"

Jiroubou hesitated again. Kankurou gave the sword a thrust. "Tenten! Some bitch called Tenten. I don't even know her, she's friends with my cousin or some shit. Augh! Lay off, man!" he pleaded. Kankurou didn't even notice. He and Shikamaru gaped at each other.

"Tenten," Shikamaru breathed.

"Cunt!" Kankurou spat. "Why? Because of that fight?"

"She—she said something about avenging Neji," Jiroubou babbled. He would spill anything and everything at this point, Shikamaru knew, for fear that Kankurou would bury the cheap plastic up to the hilt through the dude's insides. "Said the Nosubaku bitch needed knocking down a peg or two."

Sirens were faint in the distance. "Not a lot of time," Shikamaru told Kankurou. "Let's knock this guy cold again and leave him for the cops to find."

"Leave his body, you mean."

"No," Shikamaru said. He was numb now, beyond rage, worried about Temari. He just wanted to get back and comfort her. Let someone else clean up this shit.

"It would be so easy." There was longing in Kankurou's voice, deep and mindless.

"Too easy. Come on, man. Killing him would be too easy on the fucker."

Kankurou reached into his pocket. Shikamaru wondered if he'd have to tackle him. Or try to; Kankurou wasn't a small guy. "One more thing first," he said, yanking up the back of Jiroubou's jersey. Shikamaru saw a glint of metal; Kankurou had one of his X-Acto knives in his hand. "I want to give his new boyfriend something to look at while he's pounding ass." He lowered the blade to Jiroubou's pale flesh and delicately sliced a vertical line. Jiroubou mewled. Shikamaru looked away to scan the woods for the sweep of flashlights, biting his lip to keep his nausea down.

"There." Kankurou drove his knuckles into Jiroubou's temple. His eyes crossed as his face hit the dirt again. Thin, livid slashes spelled "RAPIST" across his shoulders, where his name would be on a jersey. Kankurou wiped blood off the blade and stashed it away again. "Let's go."

Shikamaru satisfied himself with a hard kick to Jiroubou's ribs before following Kankurou back through the woods.

Shikamaru lay in his bed, on his back, his left hand palm-down where Temari would lay, were she there. She was staying in the hospital for observation, and Ino with her. He had a feeling Ino had bullied a few doctors and nurses to allow that.

Gaara had thrown up in the cop car on the way to the station, out of fear or guilt or too much alcohol. Shikamaru couldn't remember a time Gaara hadn't looked composed, eerily calm and blank. He barely recognized the sobbing, retching kid with eyeliner streaks down his cheeks, who wailed his guilt to anyone who would listen. He was the one who exposed his sister to this danger, by having the party, by letting anyone come to it, by letting people do whatever they wanted, even go upstairs and rape his sister, to use her deadbolt against her, and turn her panic room into a prison.

But Shikamaru blamed himself. If he hadn't been so drunk, he would have been able to defend her. If she hadn't been knocking it back alongside him, she would've been able to defend herself. He remembered how all her muscles seemed to turn to rubber, the last time they made love, how she barely seemed to have the strength to kiss him back, how yielding she was.

At the station he, Kankurou, and Gaara were ushered together into an "interview room." An officer brought them paper cups of water water, paint-stripper strength coffee and a couple of donuts, and waited for Shikamaru's parents to arrive. The donuts tasted like stale white bread, the powdered sugar like baby powder on his tongue. They sat heavy in his stomach. They had contacted Mr. Nosabaku, who was flying back the next day. Shikamaru had expected a lecture on underage drinking and sex, on unsupervised parties, but the Naras offered to let the boys stay at their house overnight, on cots next to Shikamaru's bed. "They shouldn't have to stay in that big, empty house by themselves, not after… that," Shikamaru's mother had said.

Two pairs of eyes stared at the glow-in-the-dark stickers that Shikamaru had stuck on the ceiling as a child and never bothered to scrape off. "Do we tell her?" Kankurou asked. He had waited until Gaara was asleep to speak; there was no telling what his psychotic little brother would do if he found out this wasn't some random party rape.

"No. Jiroubou will tell the cops everything; who his buddies are, who hired him. Let them deal with it."

"But she ought to know."

"Why?" Shikamaru asked. "So she can fucking kill Tenten? She's 18, understand?" Realization hit Kankurou. "You want her going to jail?" Shikamaru said. "She's too close to it, and if they catch her, she won't be heading to juvi."

"Fuck."

Shikamaru sighed. "I know, it sucks. Just be glad you got a crack at Jiroubou."

They fell silent. Before long, Kankurou was snoring lightly. Shikamaru shifted and settled into the mattress and let his sighs relax into deep breathing.

Gaara lay curled on his side, arms around himself, his eyes wide and staring into the darkness. His mother's voice screamed in his head, berating him for his weakness, for leaving his sister vulnerable. _What are you going to do about it, Gaara? _It asked him.


	5. Chapter 5 Retribution

The doorbell broke Tenten's concentration. She shook droplets of sweat from her hair and broke her stance. A glance at the clock told her it was 4pm. Her parents would be home in another two hours. She had spent an hour practicing her forms, hoping that concentrating on the motions would keep the nausea in her stomach down.

Everyone at school had heard about what happened to Temari over the weekend. The satisfaction had only lasted a few minutes before apprehension settled like a cold stone in her stomach. Neji seemed to know, somehow; he had been avoiding her, and every time Tenten caught up to him and tried to talk to him, he turned away. When she finally cornered him at his locker, hands planted on either side of him to trap him, he almost bit her face off. "The Nosabaku are baying for blood," he hissed, spittle flecking her ear. "And you know whose door they'll be scratching at." He chopped the side of his hand into the crook of her elbow and slipped away when her arm bent.

Tenten straightened up and walked stiffly to the door as the bell sounded again. _What are you afraid of? You're a goddamned black belt_, she scolded herself. She turned the knob.

The door had barely opened before she felt a spray of burning wetness hit her face. Her sinuses ignited, her eyes stinging. _Acid_? She thought as she screamed aloud and choked. Something shoved at her ribs and she stumbled back, clawing at her eyes. No, not acid; she remembered the smell, the taste from her self-defense class. Pepper spray.

Her right temple exploded in pain, and she swooned, consciousness dipping into a gray fuzz that she shook off with some difficulty. The second sent her tumbling into the black.

She awoke blindfolded, to the sound of hacking. Her arms ached and her wrists burned from the rope that bound them. She was hanging from something, arms apart in a V. Damp chill permeated her bare skin and cold concrete under her toes told her she was in the basement. Musty dampness mingled with cigarette smoke. The sound of choking coughing subsided.

Tenten yelped as something burned a spot in the sensitive flesh of her side. A cigarette butt. A voice cut through the silence, raspy like sand over stone, "You know the first thing she asked for when she got out of the hospital was a cigarette? She never smoked so much before. She went through a pack yesterday. Because of you."

"Gaara?" Tenten realized. "You creepy little fucker, what the fuck are you doing to me? Let me go!" She wrenched at the ropes but they would not give.

A lighter flicked, then a deep inhale and another bout of coughing. "Fuck, how can they do this all the time?" Gaara muttered.

"Let me go _now_ or I'll scream," Tenten threatened.

"Go ahead. No one will hear you." Footsteps, then a blow to her ankles, kicking them apart. "Stay on your tiptoes," he warned as she felt a cold, hard pressure between her legs. She screamed.

"No, no please!"

"Just your softball bat," Gaara said. Tenten whimpered at the pain as the object pushed an inch in, two inches. There was a scrape of metal on concrete as Gaara propped it. "Don't worry; I cleaned the dirt off, which is more than Jiroubou did to the candle he shoved into my sister." Footsteps away again, another drag of breath. "Don't try to get down, unless maybe you like it rough. You're lucky; you should've seen what Kankurou did to your hired thug."

Tenten had heard what happened to Jiroubou, how they found him. "Guess you don't have the balls to do it yourself either," she spat, though her muscles tightened with fear as she strained to stay on her toes.

"Even if I was into shagging boys, I wouldn't want my first sexual experience to be with your raggedy cunt. Apparently neither does Neji. Is that why you did it? Why you were willing to inflict that on a fellow woman?" Gaara growled. Tenten cringed away. Few people had ever seen Gaara lose control; usually he was eerily monotone and calm. Not now.

Tenten cried out as Gaara twisted the burning cigarette against her left nipple. "All she wanted," he said, almost too low to hear, "all any of us wanted, was to live our lives. Our father used her like a puppet and Neji used her like a doll and you tried to rip her apart." He gave a shaky, crazed giggle. "My mother wants me to kill you," he whispered.

Goosebumps prickled her skin. "Your mother's dead, Gaara."

"So's yours," he reminded her. "But mine still talks to me. I've been holding it in too long. She wants me to destroy you for hurting her daughter."

_He's crazy, _Tenten thought. She tested her strength against the ropes. If she could pull herself up, use her feet to pull out the bat…

"Put your full weight on those ropes and they'll snap, and you'll be teriyaki on a stick," Gaara warned.

"What do you want from me?" Tenten shrieked. "An apology? A pound of flesh?"

"I want you to know what happens to people who really fuck with their betters. I don't mean people richer than you or in a higher social standing. I mean people who are better than you, in every way that counts." The lighter flicked again; Tenten could feel the heat under her chin. She whimpered and stretched her neck away. "Temari never would have done something like that to you, no matter what you did to her. Hell, she'd probably be horrified with what I'm doing now."

"They're gonna lock you up for this," Tenten said, her voice shaky. "I don't mean juvi either. They're gonna stick you in a padded room, Gaara."

"I always knew that's where I was headed." The heat moved away. "What do you think they'll do to you when Jiroubou spills his guts about how you hired him to rape the daughter of one of the richest men in Konoha? Even after the criminal trial is over, my father has enough power and money to sue your foster parents into the ground." He spat. "I hope it was worth the few minutes of satisfaction."

Tears soaked Tenten's blindfold. "Let me down. Please, Gaara, let me down…"

"By the way. Your parents left a message on the answering machine. They're going out to dinner after work so you have to fend for yourself. They should be home around eight o'clock." Tenten sobbed. "I wonder if your muscles will hold out until then."

Tenten heard his footsteps go up the stairs, heard the cellar door close. "Gaara! Let me go! Gaara! Somebody! Help me!"

Gaara ignored Tenten's hollers. Her cell phone was on the coffee table in the living room. He flipped it open, found Neji's number, and thumbed in a text message:

Neji plz help me!

He set the phone back down and left the front door open behind him as he walked out. His hands were shaking, his head pounding with the fiercest headache he'd had in a long time. "Why did I do it? Why? I don't wanna get locked up," he murmured to himself as he half walked, half ran along the sidewalk. _It's okay_, his mother whispered in his head. _I'll be with you. You did well, son. You've avenged your sister._

"Good," Gaara breathed as he hurried along, his whole body cold with sweat as the autumn wind blasted him. "Good."

As soon as he saw the front door swinging in the wind, Neji knew something was horribly wrong. "Tenten!" he called, his voice echoing in the empty house. His feet pounded the stairs as he raced to her room. Empty. All the rooms were empty. He wrenched open closets, even cabinets. Finally he opened the basement door and called her name.

"Neji…" a hoarse croak answered.

He thundered down the steps and skidded to a stop when he saw her. Her arms were tied with rope to a pipe above her, spread apart, and her eyes were bound with a rag. She was nude, standing on tiptoe, her legs shaking violently from the effort. Propped up beneath her, sunk into her, was an aluminum bat.

"My God, Tenten," Neji breathed as he rushed forward. He knelt in front of her, carefully laid his hands on the bat. She whimpered. Slowly, he slid the end of the bat toward himself along the floor, and pulled it out of her. Her whole body seemed to collapse, hanging limply from the arms. Neji dropped the bat and stood to work on the ropes. "Who did this to you?"

"Gaara," she rasped. Her arm dropped to Neji's shoulder as he freed it, then worked on the other. "How did you—"

"I got a text from you," he explained.

Tenten slumped against Neji as her second arm was freed. He gently held her to him. Tenten laughed, or sobbed, it was hard to tell which. "He said no one would find me until my parents came home at eight."

"I guess he had a change of heart," Neji muttered, sliding the blindfold off her. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs and I'll call the police."

Tenten shook her head. "Don't call the cops. Just help me upstairs. I want to get cleaned up before my parents get home."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I deserved this."

"No you didn't."

"I shouldn't have—"

"You did it for me," he whispered. "And I don't deserve it."

"Neji," Tenten sobbed, her shaking arms around his neck. "I love you."

"I know," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Tenten."

Temari and her father sat at the breakfast bar, side by side. She couldn't remember the last time they had done so. It was probably when she was a little girl, before Gaara was born, before she realized her daddy wasn't a hero.

She had spent a restless night at the hospital, listening to Ino snore lightly on the cot beside her bed, still in her silly harem-girl costume. The next morning, when he father arrived, she expected any number of things: scolding lectures, scorn, shame.

She didn't expect the hug.

Shocked into stillness, her arms not knowing what to do, Temari sat as her father embraced her, his breathing shaky. "I'm so sorry, Temari," he said. After a few moments, she had patted his back awkwardly and pulled away.

Today the careful distance was back. He sipped his tea before speaking. "So we're agreed that Anbu is probably the best choice for you three from now until you graduate?"

Temari nodded and stirred her tea. She didn't want to go back to Konoha High, didn't want to hear the whispers, see the "poor Temari" looks on everyone's faces and be treated like a china doll.

"And you'll start seeing a therapist twice a week starting tomorrow."

"Mmhmm," she agreed.

Her father turned to look at her. "You're being rather calm about all this."

Temari shrugged. "What do you want me to do? Wail all day in my room?"

He shook his head. "Your therapist will give you enough lectures about holding the pain inside."

"That's where the pain is, Dad. Inside."

"Temari…"

The front door slammed. Gaara burst into the room, his face red and eyes wide, breathing heavy. "Temari!" he gasped, and went to her side. His hug shocked Temari more than her father's hug had the day before. Gaara never touched anybody if he could help it.

"Hey, what's this about then?" Temari asked.

"I made it up to you," he said, actually smiling. There was something crazed about that smile that raised the hairs on Temari's arms. "Tenten won't bother you anymore."

Temari went cold. "Gaara," she said, "what did you do?"


End file.
